Hush
by snarkmcsnark
Summary: Amanda Rollins and Nick Amaro go undercover to bust a prostitution ring in Southampton, NY. For Amaro, this operation is just another chance to prove to the brass that he's a good detective. For Rollins, and unbeknownst to everyone else, this case is a personal mission to save her sister.
1. Touchdown

_**AN** : This is slightly AU in that Rollins still works for APD and Nick is already working at SVU with Liv and the gang, and he's already divorced. However, characters are still pretty much the same._

 _I've had this idea of a rollaro undercover fanfic for ages (since April) and I just never got around to it because, besides the two of them being undercover, I didn't have a plot. And I do terribly with updating stories if I don't have an idea of where it's going *cough*Save Room*cough*. The good news is, I now have an idea of how many chapters this will be and the general idea of what happens in each chapter. So I have high hopes that this will be updated fairly regularly. Please read, enjoy, and review!_

* * *

 **Hush**

 **1\. Touchdown**

* * *

"The weather outside is a balmy 86 degrees with a 70 percent chance of rainfall later this evening. And you don't want to get caught out in the rain without an umbrella," announced the chipper voice over the PA system. "Enjoy your stay here in New York. And from our crew, we thank you for choosing to fly with United Airlines."

As soon as the seatbelt sign turned off, Amanda Rollins stood up along with the overeager crowd. First in her row to take up the aisle, she retrieved her carry-on from the overhead bin. But even in her haste, she still had to wait for everyone in front of her to collect their belongings and file out of the doors. Normally, she didn't have a problem waiting; but she couldn't help but internally chastise the mother of two, who was holding up the line because she couldn't seem to wrangle in her toddlers and their suitcases. Breathing deep, she glanced at the time on her phone. It was two hours after her scheduled arrival all thanks to an engine failure that delayed their flight. And all she really wanted in that moment was an emergency exit out of that suffocating cabin.

Once inside JFK, Amanda coursed through the crowd. Her restless legs navigated and led her to Arrivals, where she dodged an approaching family. They had tears in their eyes as they ran straight in her direction. She got shoved in all the excitement by a woman who promptly apologized, "Lo siento!" Amanda held her hand up as if to tell her it was no big deal, but the woman had already leaped into the arms of a man in military fatigues. The family embraced him, his brown eyes tearing up at the sight of a newborn baby.

Outside the airport, there was a line of yellow cabs waiting for customers. In the back of her mind, she thought it was all so quintessentially New York, but she felt wrong for wasting time and marveling at the spellbinding facets of the city. She watched in awe as a man in a suit effortlessly hailed a cab. He slid into the backseat, cellphone still pressed up against his ear without a break in conversation. Amanda pulled her sunglasses over her eyes and raised an arm up. A taxi pulled up by the curb and she threw her suitcase into the trunk before the driver even had a chance to make it halfway around to help her.

"39th Street and Park Avenue South," she instructed the driver. Once she received word of where she was supposed to go as soon as she arrived in the city, she embedded the address into memory.

He flashed a look at the rearview mirror and arched his brows. "The police station? I was just there last night to bail out my dumbass nephew," he said with a chuckle. She forced a smile, in silent prayer that the cab driver would step on the gas. "They caught him exposing himself at the park… I told them, he's just a kid… Hormones, ya know?"

The drive into Manhattan was hell. Traffic was bumper to bumper and it did no favors for the tight-lipped state of panic she was in. Ever since Amanda found out her sister had been taken, she submerged herself in this ocean of dread – some would have even called it hysteria. She blamed herself for those two months she ignored the loss of contact with Kim. She allowed her personal feelings – her anger, her disappointment, and her sense of betrayal – get in the way of her responsibility to protect her sister.

Kim promised she would get herself clean and stay away from her abusive ex-boyfriend. Amanda should have known, from experience, that Kim wouldn't have kept her word. She left Jeff but she fell right back into drugs. And Amanda was just so tired of picking up the pieces and sweeping up the messes Hurricane Kim left behind.

She knew her sister was an adult who could make her own decisions. But she would always be her _little_ sister, and no one besides Amanda understood how Kim was a victim of the circumstances of their upbringing. She couldn't be held accountable for most of the things she's done. And as much as Amanda would've liked to teach Kim a lesson in exercising autonomy and getting herself out of a bind on her own, being abducted and forced to turn tricks rendered her powerless.

So this was where Amanda stepped in to save her.

With the help of Captain Sam Reynolds, she was able to pull the investigation from the Cold Case Unit and work on it in in the QT. After tireless research, she finally had a strong lead that the girls were being housed close to the Tuckahoe Wood Preserve in Long Island. Her captain warned her that the department didn't want them wasting time on a case that was likely in the NYPD's purview now that the girls were out of state. But he knew both Rollins girls and he understood why this was important to his detective; so he gave her some elbowroom even if it was against the orders of the brass. Amanda did, however, go under Sam's advisement when she sent her discoveries, withholding information about her sister, to the NYPD. But when she told Sam that the NYPD read through the case files and gave her their backing, he eventually relented and took care of the paperwork to have her sent to New York.

In the twenty-four hours since her temporary transfer was filed, Amanda had been a ball of nerves, running on Venti Pikes and Clif Bars. Every day she spent outside the investigation was another day her sister was being sold to men with deep pockets and distinguished reputations.

As she sat in the backseat of the taxi, she impatiently tapped her fingers on her thigh. The undercover assignment couldn't happen soon enough, she thought to herself.

She trusted that the NYPD observed her request to work alongside an experienced officer who completed numerous undercover operations and busted his fair share of sex trafficking rings. She knew she had a lot on the line with this case and she couldn't afford to screw it up by being paired with someone inexperienced and incompetent. She was never more meticulous about details in her life; and that was why she specifically asked the department that she go undercover with none other than Lieutenant Declan Murphy.

* * *

The routine commotion of the squad room existed in contrast with Nick Amaro's quiet concentration. He looked over his notes, scribbled hastily in chicken scratch only he could decipher; then, he entered the information into the system. Names, dates, fingerprints, and DNA surrendered to the state to be later used as ammunition. Printing pages of those standard reports and signing off on them had always been the most monotonous and time-consuming part of the job; but he accepted they were par for the course. Begrudgingly, he understood that in order to go out on the street and chase perpetrators, he needed to suck it up and exercise some patience. He just needed to wall off the distractions of the round-the-clock 911 calls, sit his ass down, and type.

"Amaro."

Nick broke through the makeshift bubble of concentration to see Captain Cragen standing at the threshold of his office. "Yeah, Cap?"

"There's something we need to discuss," he announced rather ominously, tilting his head toward the room. "Those DD-5s can wait."

Olivia Benson looked up from her own stack of paperwork and furrowed her brows at her partner. If the captain was telling him to hold off on DD-5s and asking to speak with him privately, then it must have been serious.

Nick's memory jogged back to his most recent case and he combed through his investigative approach, but nothing stuck out. As far as he knew, he hadn't screwed up. Returning the puzzled look to his partner, he shrugged his shoulders and rose from his chair. Olivia tapped her pen on her notebook as her mouth curled up into a little smirk. "You in trouble?" she teased. "Does this mean I'm getting a new partner?"

He rolled his eyes. "Be careful what you wish for, Benson. 'Sides, why'd you want to work with someone else?"

She shook her head with a smile and gestured to the captain's office. "Don't keep the boss waiting."

Upon entering the office, Nick closed the door behind him. The last thing he needed was the rest of the squad piling up at the door to eavesdrop on the probable scolding he'd be receiving for something he wasn't even sure he did. But Cragen didn't even look upset; then again, the man had mastered the art of maintaining a stoic facial expression even when faced with the grisliest of cases. "Take a seat," Cragen gestured toward the chair in front of his desk.

Nick sat down, resisting the impulse to casually slouch forward and appear the slightest bit unprofessional in front of his captain. Even though the man in front of him had already reviewed the gradually growing collection of screw-ups in his jacket.

"I called you in here to ask if you'd be interested in committing yourself to an undercover assignment." He took a folder and opened it, briefly glancing at the heading at the top of the page. "The brass estimates the operation will take two to three months to complete, and you will need to go into deep cover. The objective is to take down a prostitution ring that has presence in Manhattan, but we believe they operate largely from Southampton. And Suffolk County police isn't trained for the provisions of this type of operation."

"Cap, undercover?" Nick asked, his eyes wide in surprise. Not that undercover work was new to him; but since moving from Narcotics to SVU, he hadn't stepped into the shoes of a character for longer than a couple of hours. "I'll have to think about it."

"If you choose to take this assignment, you'll be living in a guesthouse by the beach for the duration of the summer," Cragen said with a smile that he hoped would convince his detective. "I reckon this isn't the kind of living conditions you were used to while working UC."

Nick scratched his temple and shrugged. "Yeah, I guess. It sure beats sleeping on the floor in a crack house."

Cragen pressed his lips together in a tight smile as he interlocked his fingers over his desk. "I have to tell you, this case is time-sensitive. You and your partner would be assuming your roles and moving into the Hamptons by Friday."

"Partner?" Nick asked, pointing his thumb back out toward the squad room. "Why isn't Liv here?"

"The onset of this investigation was in Atlanta. The case was cold for a few years, but it was re-opened a few months ago when several teenage girls from a voluntary group home went missing. APD refuses to do anything about it, but one of their detectives sent her research up here; and the NYPD wants these guys behind bars," Cragen explained. "The detective who's been working this case will be your partner. She'll play your wife."

"My wife?" Nick chuckled. This was a first, even for him.

"Look, Amaro, I know when you transferred to SVU, you asked for no long-term undercover assignments on account of your family. And I don't intend to ignore your request, but I have overheard you talking to Benson about your ex-wife –"

"—And how she's taking my daughter to California this summer?" Nick asked with a wry smile. "Yeah, the courts decide we get shared custody of Zara and what does she do? She signs her up for summer camp… Maria will do anything just to keep me from seeing my kid."

Cragen placed his palms up in an attempt to calm down the hotheaded detective. "I'm sorry about the divorce, Nick. I understand why you're angry," he said with a heavy sigh. "One of the reasons why I'm advising you to take this assignment is because, I think, this will keep you focused on something else. And before you know it, summer's over and Zara will be back in New York with you."

Nick nodded in agreement.

"Also, the brass contacted me earlier today and specifically asked for you. They're aware of your undercover work and they think your experience coupled with your years here in Special Victims will help them close this case." Nick's eyes widened at the revelation that high-ranking members of the NYPD wanted him on this UC bust. At that point, he felt he had no choice but to take the assignment; otherwise, he looked like the chump who couldn't be counted on. "The brass asked me if you're good police and I vouched for you. So, I hope that you strongly consider this offer."

"Yeah…" Nick trailed off, still a little dumbfounded that all his hard work was now being recognized. "Yes – yes, of course. I'll do it."

* * *

By the time the cab dropped her off at the 16th precinct in Manhattan, the sky was streaked with shades of red and purple. Storm clouds loomed over in the distance, ready to unleash in the later hours of the evening. Amanda entered the building and headed straight to the elevator, which – she was thankful - was empty. Leaning her head against the wall, she closed her eyes and exhaled deeply, repeating to herself that she was one step closer to finding her sister.

She arrived in the squad room, wheeling her suitcase behind her. A uniformed officer stopped in his tracks and asked if he could be of any assistance. She didn't miss the way he looked her up and down and the way his mouth curled up into a sly smile. "I'm here to meet with Captain Cragen," she told him. The officer looked over his shoulder to see the door closed and the blinds drawn in the captain's office. Another man stood up from his desk and walked over toward them.

"Harrison, I got this," said the man dressed casually in the midst of uniformed police and detectives in suits. He extended his hand out for her to shake. "Detective Fin Tutuola."

"Detective Amanda Rollins, Atlanta PD."

"Atlanta?" Fin cocked his head to the side and arched a brow. "What brings you here?"

"I'm on loan to the NYPD, and I was told I'm supposed to meet with Captain Cragen about an assignment." She looked past his shoulder to the office. "Is he in there?"

"Yeah, but he's in another meeting. Why don't you sit down over here," he said and gestured to the chair beside his desk. "I'm gonna let him know that you're here."

Amanda smiled back at him, feeling a little more at ease that Fin was being nice to her without examining her like some piece of meat. She glanced up to see a man with gray hair study her with curiosity. He smiled and shook his head. "I'm sorry." He reached over and extended his hand for her to shake. "Sergeant John Munch. I'm Detective Tutuola's partner."

She shook his hand and nodded. "Nice to meet you, sarge."

The door to the office opened and Fin came out followed by a brunette woman and two men. Amanda assumed the captain was the last one to file out; he appeared much older and he caught her eye with recognition. He walked toward her and she immediately stood up to offer her hand. "Captain Cragen, it's great to finally meet you."

"Detective Rollins, I've heard a lot about you," he said with a soft smile. "I see you've met Munch and Fin. Don't let these two muddy your notions of the NYPD; they're a deviation from normal."

"Hey," Munch protested. "I'd like to think we are unique."

"Yeah, man, maybe just you," Fin quipped back.

"Anyway," Cragen began to say, pointing at the two other detectives who emerged from his office. "These are detectives Benson and Amaro."

She nodded her head at them before she turned back to Captain Cragen. "Don't get me wrong, it's great meeting all of you but I was told I would also be meeting my partner for this operation. I – I, uh, don't see him here." Amanda looked around the room for a certain Declan Murphy.

"The brass didn't tell you?" Cragen asked; his brows furrowed in confusion.

"Didn't tell me what?"

"They didn't think Lieutenant Murphy was a good fit for this particular deep cover operative. The cover story they have written up is for someone younger. And the department feels that, in the context of this assignment, Murphy playing your husband will not yield results. So we decided to pair you up with someone else."

Amanda opened her mouth to protest when she saw Detective Amaro take a step forward. "Y-you? You're going to be my partner?"

Nick blinked slowly, taken aback by the judgmental attitude of the Atlanta detective.

Cragen sensed the growing tension in the room and moved quickly to pacify it. "Detective Amaro is an excellent second grade detective. He's done a number of successful undercover operations during his time in Narcotics – he took down the MS-13 case," he said, hoping Amanda had heard about the major drug bust that was a big deal in the tri-state area. "And he's worked in SVU for the last three years so he is very much familiar with the nature of sex crimes."

Amanda chewed on her lip and pondered Cragen's endorsement of Nick Amaro. He was a grade higher than her and he had undercover experience, but he was not who she asked for; he was not who she was promised.

Even after Cragen's glowing review, Nick noticed that Amanda, with the sullen expression on her face, still seemed unimpressed. He almost wanted to go back into the office, scratch over his signature, and rescind the contract. The department could go find another guy to play house with the blonde. But, then, his naturally stubborn self just wanted to prove her wrong for underestimating him.

"Now that you're both here, I can brief you on the operation and pass along the instructions from the brass," Cragen said, leading the way into his office. "I'm sure you're both dying to know your cover stories." He smiled, hoping that would melt some of the ice between the two detectives.

Amanda and Nick followed him inside but they crowded at the door, and they ended up blocking each other's paths. She glared at him and he returned it with a pasted smile, stepping aside and sweeping his hand to let her pass. He caught her rolling her eyes and he shook his head. He hung back and threw a look at Olivia, mouthing, 'Save me.'

* * *

 **2 months later**

The constant trickle of water on the concrete was the sound that woke her up. Her lids fluttered open to a cloud of white spots. As her pupils adjusted and she blinked the fog from her eyes, she observed the dark and dingy space. Everything was in shades of gray apart from the orange, rusty nails sticking out of blocks of cement. Carefully, she lifted her neck to see a high, exposed ceiling with iron beams running along the length of the room.

A bead of sweat coursed from her forehead down to the bridge of her nose, falling to her cut lip. The salt stung against the open wound, momentarily distracting her from the other cuts and bruises marring her body. She hissed but the noise is caught in her parched throat, just in time to hear the deep rumble of her empty stomach.

The summer air was hot and thick. She was sweating from the heat and lack of ventilation but, just beneath her skin, she felt cold. Her body shivered, which only made the pain in her muscles cry with more intensity. Her head was pounding and it was becoming more and more difficult for her to keep her eyes open.

All she wanted to do was lie down and sleep but she couldn't move in her position. The only reason she was upright was because her hands were over her head, her wrists bound tightly by rope that was chafing and burning her skin. The more she struggled, the more it ate away at the top layers; so she decided to stay still.

Her body quivered again as she felt the chill rush up her spine and strike severely at the nape of her neck. Her head fell forward and her eyes blinked open in shock as she stared down at her naked body. She was filthy with dirt, grime, and dried blood. She stared further down below her waist to see fresh blood dripping down her legs. A whimper escaped her throat and she sobbed, even if it physically pained her.

"Stop crying!"

The voice rattled her and she immediately ceased. Slowly, she lifted her head and saw two figures emerge from the shadows. They were both tall men with broad shoulders and cropped hair. As they moved toward her, the little light that seeped through the cracks in the walls revealed their features. They were familiar. The planes on their face and the set of their eyes – she had seen them before. And one pair of eyes, staring at her like a predator, made her instinctively clench her legs together. The predator's mouth curled up into a wicked smile as he neared her. She turned her head away but he grabbed her by the chin and forced her to look at him.

"We meet again, Amanda Rollins."


	2. Cabin

**AN:** _Hello! Thank you for all the reviews for chapter one. Love how most of you pointed out that I threw shade at Murphy. Honestly, I didn't mean to! But in this chapter, I have to admit, the shade is deliberate. I also got a couple people asking about Nick and Amanda them playing husband and wife. The time jump (2 months later) was really just a teaser to show you what's going to happen toward the end. Majority of this fic will be set during the two months prior, while they are undercover (and playing house - bickering like an old, married couple included). So, in this chapter, we jump back to the start of summer._

 _This is a fairly long chapter and it's pretty much just here to introduce their cover stories and set the scene. I hope you like it. Please read, enjoy, and review!_

* * *

 **Hush**

 **2\. Cabin**

* * *

 **June 18**

The first thing they told new operatives was that deep undercover operations were extremely dangerous. In spite of the rigorous training and preparation required for these assignments, there was no telling how it could unravel and threaten one's moral compass. Undercover cops have lost careers and families because they failed to transition back into a world where they were the crime fighters and not the criminals.

Amanda knew what she was getting herself into. She knew that she was going against the orders of the Atlanta Police Department by coming to New York and working this case. She knew that, even if she were to return to her old squad with a closed case and her sister in tow, her fellow officers would view her with suspicion and distrust. After tomorrow, things would never be the same.

She sunk deeper into the tub and closed her eyes until her head was fully submerged underwater.

The last four days had been non-stop preparation and training for the assignment. Amanda already knew the case inside and out, but her partner needed to be briefed before they could send him to the Hamptons with her. As much as she hated to admit it, Nick picked up on everything quickly; he read hundreds of pages of research and reports spanning back to the early 2000s, when a similar prostitution ring was operating out of Atlanta. What she didn't appreciate was Nick's overkill attention to detail – a perfectionist tendency that gave him the impression that it was valuable to the job to insert his own theories and question the work she had already done.

She emerged from the water and breathed deep, blinking her eyes and adjusting to the bright light of the hotel bathroom. She looked through the water to observe her skin, almost as white as the porcelain of the bathtub. Drawing her knees to her chest, she sat in the water and thought back to the Tuesday they received their backstories.

"Being a deep cover operative means complete immersion in the life one is infiltrating." That was the introductory statement of the former federal agent, who gave Nick and Amanda the rundown of their characters' stories. Not only would Amanda need to pretend to have a few extra zeroes at the end of her savings account, she would also have to dress and act the part of spoiled ex-debutante.

Luckily for her, the NYPD had been extremely thorough. They found a way to explain her Southern accent by allowing her to assume the identity of a certain Amanda "Mandy" Marsden from South Carolina. The real Mandy moved to New York in 2002, and less than a year later, went into witness protection after she was involved with a convicted felon.

The higher-ups in charge of overseeing the operation advised that cover stories should be sufficiently consistent with their own history, so they could fly in the face of intense scrutiny. But apart from the fact that Marsden and Rollins were both from the South and they both won the genetic lottery of blonde hair and blue eyes, Amanda didn't share much life experience with her counterpart. Mandy grew up in a restored plantation home just outside of Beaufort, South Carolina. She was homeschooled for much of her life until she went to college and joined the same sorority her mother was a part of back in the early seventies. Amanda's mother, on the other hand, wasn't even born until 1961; and the only time in her life Beth Anne Rollins ever stepped foot in an institution of higher education was to pose as a student so she could sneak into campus parties.

The sorority became the link between Amanda's well-timed visit to Southampton and the reunion with a Marsden family friend. Twenty-four years ago, Bella Marsden – the matriarch of the family – died from pneumonia, which she acquired while battling a chronic illness. Her only child, Amanda, was only six-years-old at the time. One of the people who attended the funeral was a woman named Grace Costello, a sorority sister who took Bella under her wing when she was just a freshman. Grace remembered her friend's little girl. And she was delighted when, about a week ago, she received a letter from Mandy, informing her that she and her husband were moving to New York City, but their brownstone in the Upper West Side wouldn't be ready until September. Despite not seeing her friend's daughter for over twenty years, Grace wrote back and invited the young couple to spend the summer at her guesthouse in Southampton.

Nicolas Santiago would play the role of her husband. The story was they met while Amanda was vacationing down in Miami Beach with her girl friends. He was a charming, successful sports agent who could trace his ancestry from an aristocratic Cuban family. Being born with a silver spoon was something their roles had in common; and it was something that would allow them to fit seamlessly into the world they were about to immerse themselves in.

Amanda rose from the tub, the water sluicing down her body. She reached for a towel and stepped out to dry herself off. Tying a loose knot above her chest, she stood in front of the mirror and grimaced at the sight of dark rings under her eyes. It had been weeks since she's had a good night's sleep. And the longer she scrutinized her appearance, the more she doubted that she coul pull off being Amanda Marsden. No way would the Southern belle be caught dead looking like a zombie.

She opened the black cosmetic case issued by the department and sifted through the makeup – a Chanel compact and a Dior palette of eye shadow. Even with her job that now paid her fairly decently, she still couldn't justify spending more than Maybelline prices on a tube of mascara. She left the case by the sink so she could remember to pack on the concealer under her eyes, before her 'husband' picked her up in the morning.

With a sigh, Amanda switched off the bathroom light and headed to bed, praying tonight's sleep would come easy.

* * *

Nick sat at the bar next to Olivia, sticking out amongst the brash and unruly crowd with her glass of pinot noir. For the last hour, he had been talking her ear off about his anxious anticipation for the undercover operation. It was always like this before he jumped into a long-term assignment – he was just as much nervous as he was excited. Meanwhile, Olivia tried to calm him and keep him from keeling over with all his energy. It didn't help that her partner had twice as many cans of Explosivo earlier today than he had on most days.

"You remember what Captain said," she reminded him. "If you need anything, you can always contact me. That's what the burner phone's for."

He waved his hand dismissively and scrunched up his face, the alcohol already making his head feel lighter. "Yeah, yeah, I know… But does it have to be case-related? I mean, what if Rollins is driving me up the wall and I need to vent?"

Olivia laughed and shook her head. "I thought you were done venting about your ex-wife; now, you're going to start venting about your fake wife, too?"

Nick muttered a few curse words under his breath before he lifted the beer bottle to his lips. "It's not just me, right?" he asked, setting the bottle back down on the counter. "You guys have seen her around the squad room the last few days. She's kind of a bitch."

"Language," she reprimanded with mock indignation. "Nick, I really don't think she's as bad as you think. You know, Rollins put a lot of time into this case and I think she deserves some respect for bringing it to light in spite of the resistance she received from her superiors… And maybe you just need to give her some time to warm up to you; after all, she was expecting to be partnered up with someone else."

"Yeah, what's up with that?" he asked, scratching the back of his head. "I looked into this Declan Murphy and, uh, that guy is old."

She raised a brow and narrowed her eyes at her partner. Nick held his palms up in surrender and leaned back to dodge any impending attacks she might have planned. "I don't mean it like that. You – you're not old. Y-you're Liv!"

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

He shrugged his shoulders and threw her one of his boyish grins, which earned him a light punch on the arm. "I'm just sayin' that for your age – which isn't all that old, just so we're clear – you look a lot better than Murphy. And I mean, _a lot_ better." Olivia's harsh look didn't relent, so he chose to move on instead of saying another inappropriate comment about her age or the length of her hair (apparently, both of which were strictly off-limits when it came to Olivia). "Man, I can't believe she would go for that guy and expect people to believe she'd hook up with him."

"Does it hurt your ego because she's obviously not attracted to you?"

"No!" Nick cried out a little too loud, gaining the attention of the bar's other patrons. The volume of his voice mellowed out as he leaned in closer to her. "She's not my type anyway."

"Really?" Olivia asked; her brow arched in disbelief. "Pretty girls aren't your type, Amaro?"

"Don't." He held a finger up to stop her, before he took a swig of his beer. "You think I'm drunk so you can take advantage and interrogate me about past girlfriends and my sex life. Not falling for it this time, Liv."

She lowered her head to suppress the laughter as she remembered the last time Nick decided it was a good idea to drown his sorrows in alcohol. It actually wasn't too long ago; the day Maria called to tell him she signed up their daughter to attend a Princess Training camp in Los Angeles. When Nick described it to her, she didn't know whether to laugh or cry. The camp was geared for young, impressionable girls who wanted to learn about modeling, acting, and singing; and when they weren't doing that, they were learning how to braid each other's hair and how to properly set up a tea party. Nick already had justified reservations about the nature of the camp; but the fact that it was going to keep Zara in the West Coast all summer made him all the more enraged with his ex. Tired of hearing him whine about it in the office, she took him to the bar later that evening and promised the first round would be on her. But one round wasn't enough for the newly divorced and abandoned detective, who spilled his frustrations between shot after shot of hard liquor. As the night wore on, the mood shifted from despair to amusement as Olivia started teasing him and asking him questions he would normally never answer if he were sober. It was an awful day for Nick (and an even worse hangover the following morning), but Olivia had to admit, the night at the bar brought them a lot closer.

"It's going to be so different working at the 1-6 without you."

"You say it like I'm not coming back," Nick said, nudging her shoulder. "I'll be back by the end of the summer, provided Amanda Rollins doesn't shoot me – or worse, castrate me."

Olivia rolled her eyes before she took a long sip of her wine. "I'm so relieved I wasn't paired with you for this assignment. I don't think I'd survive being married to you."

"But you'll still miss me, right?"

Her mouth curled up into a smirk as she raised her glass to his bottle. "Always."

* * *

Day one of operation Bust-A-Prostitution-Ring and it was already a lot better than any of his previous work under Narcotics. He rolled up the department-issued Range Rover in front of the hotel and pulled out a brand new iPhone from his pocket to text his 'wife', _I'm downstairs ._ She replies a few seconds later, _I'll see you in 5 ._

While the car is idling, Nick pushed a series of buttons on the dashboard to figure out what exactly they did. Apart from the satellite navigation and Sirius radio that seemed fairly straightforward, he had yet to discover the other added features of the car. He picked the 90s alternative rock station, which brought back memories of college. He was too busy drumming his fingers at the wheel and bobbing his head to the beat that he failed to notice Amanda tapping on the window. He caught her from the corner of his eye and smiled sheepishly as he unlocked the car. Hopping out of the driver's side, he walked around to help her load her stuff in the back. The size of her suitcase doubling since she arrived in New York, all thanks to the borrowed designer clothing from the department's repository.

"Morning," he greeted her, noticing her skin looking a lot more radiant than it did yesterday. She also had light pink polish on her nails and her hair was curled and pinned away from her face. His mind flashed back to the previous night, when Olivia pointed out Amanda was a pretty girl.

She gave him a tight-lipped smile. "We better get going." She headed to the passenger side and strapped her seatbelt before he even made it back into the car. By the time he closed the door, she already switched the station to Bluegrass.

The drive to Long Island was quiet apart from the twang of banjos and the screech of violins. Nick let her have free rein over the music, remembering another thing Olivia told him the previous night about giving Amanda time to warm up to him.

But by the time they were outside city limits and on the highway, Nick was sick and tired of receiving the cold shoulder. She didn't look like the kind of person who entertained small talk. And, in that moment, he wasn't really in the mood for it either. "So, uh, what made you decide to request for Murphy?"

Amanda tore her eyes away from the road and turned to him. "I read up on some of his cases and heard he's one of the best."

Nick chuckled. "A little too experienced to be playing your husband though, don't you think?"

"No," she answered simply, before she faced the window. After a short moment, she looked back and narrowed her eyes at him. "You know, it's not that strange for a woman to be with an older man, especially in WASP-y towns like Southampton."

"Yeah, I mean, if you want to play the role of a gold digger. Sure, why not?" He glanced her way and caught the daggers she threw with her eyes. She folded her arms over her chest and leaned back against the seat. "You said it yourself in your research… In order to get into close proximity with our targets and infiltrate their group, the operatives have a better chance if they're young and attractive."

"You're so full of yourself."

"Hey," Nick said, stepping on the brakes abruptly behind another stalled car. "I didn't volunteer for this assignment. The brass chose me, so if you have a problem with it, then take up with them."

"I don't have a problem," she hissed, her mouth twisting into a frown.

He scoffed and shook his head, letting the car crawl forward only to stop again. "Really? Because ever since we met, you've been nothing but judgmental. And I've tried to be nice to you, but you're really testing my patience here."

"Great," Amanda replied, her voice dripping with sarcasm like slow molasses. "Then maybe we can be the newlywed couple who skips over the honeymoon period and fights all the time."

"Sounds perfect."

With more miles between them and the city, the tension didn't thaw in the slightest. Nick selected a new station from a button conveniently situated on the steering wheel. Amanda stared icily at him, but restrained herself from participating in his game and reaching over to switch it back to The Avett Brothers. She looked back outside at the trees that lined the highway; then her eyes drifted to Nick's hazy reflection on the passenger side window. He was wearing the kind of outfit she'd expect someone to wear for a weekend trip to the beach. Gone were the crisp button-down shirts and poly-blend ties, which he's traded in for a light cotton polo shirt and khaki shorts. On his wrist was a silver Rolex, which she remembered came with an attached note that he would be liable if this item were to go missing, unless in the event that his life would be in jeopardy. The same went for all the fancy dresses, high-heels, and jewelry stashed away in her trunk.

Staring at his reflection, Amanda quietly sighed. She would never admit it to him, but part of the reason why she thought Murphy would make a great choice for a pretend-husband was because she thought people would assume she just married him for the money. That way, she wouldn't have to worry about convincing people she was actually in love with him.

"Where are you going?" Amanda was drawn out of her thoughts when she realized Nick was changing lanes prematurely. "Southampton isn't for another five exits."

"Traffic's bad. I know another way." He picked up on the subtle shake of her head and the pout of her lips. "What, you don't think I can get us there in time? So this is how the next couple months are going to be? You constantly doubting me?" As soon as Nick reached a red light, he hit the brakes and angled his body toward her. "Look, I don't know if you were hot shit back in Atlanta, but you're working for the NYPD now and I don't have to sit here and take this crap from you. So if you want to act like some petulant child just because you didn't get your way, then fine… But I'm not going to tolerate you underestimating my abilities and experience just because I'm not the partner you wanted. You do know this isn't my first time working UC."

"No offense, Amaro, but going UC as a Narc isn't the same thing."

"Because you would know with _all_ your undercover experience," he retaliated sarcastically, effectively shutting her up.

* * *

The scenic route was a worthwhile distraction from the bitter chill inside the Range Rover. In the distance, they saw the beach, dotted by tourists and city folk getting an early start to the weekend. The further in town Nick drove, the trees on the side of the road became lusher, leaves hanging over the streets to provide shade from the sun. They passed through old buildings on Main Street – an Anglican church, a mechanic's shop that was converted into a diner, a gift shop that sold stained glass coasters and hand carved wind chimes. The side roads led to quaint Cape Cod style homes with tire swings and Adirondack chairs on the front lawn. As Nick drove further south, the road merged into two narrow lanes that stretched far beyond the horizon. On one side, acres of tall grass, and on the other, sand dunes sloping down toward the low tides of the Atlantic.

The car slowed down as the GPS announced a right turn. There was a stone archway with the name 'Huxley' fashioned out of wrought iron. Following the paved road that twisted past Willow Trees reminiscent of Amanda's Georgia, they finally arrived at the palatial home. The driveway circled in front of the house, a bed of flowers and a small fountain in the center.

Nick casted a glance at Amanda, who took a deep breath before she met his eyes – the earlier intensity melting away into kindness. He turned off the engine. "Ready to do this?"

Amanda nodded before she unbuckled her seatbelt and opened the door. Just as her brown leather sandals hit the ground, the double doors opened and out stepped a woman she recognized from their files. Her name was Grace Huxley (née Costello) – a socialite in her sixties and a member of the Kappa Alpha Gamma sorority. She was married to Phillip Huxley, a retired neurosurgeon, who now taught part-time at Columbia University's school of medicine.

With the kind of poise and elegance that suited her name, Grace traipsed down the marble steps. She greeted Amanda with a dazzling smile – the whites of her teeth as brilliant as the pearls on her ears. "My, if it isn't little Miss Mandy Marsden all grown up." She reached her arms out for an embrace, which caught Amanda off guard. She awkwardly patted the woman's back as she took a whiff of the woman's powdery perfume. Grace pulled away slightly and inspected her from arms-length. The scrutiny was a bit much for her and Amanda wanted to turn away; fearing that Grace would figure out she was not the same little girl from Bella's funeral twenty-four years ago. "You're stunning, darling. Just like your mother."

A blush fanned across her cheeks. "Really? Wow… Uh, thank you, Mrs. Huxley."

"Oh, Mandy darling, please call me Grace. Mrs. Huxley is my mother-in-law," she said with a devious little smile. Looking over the blonde's shoulder, her eyes sparkled at the man pulling out two large suitcases from the back of the SUV. "And this must be your husband, Nicolas," she said, lowering her head to whisper to Amanda. "You forgot to mention in your letters that he was so handsome."

"I – uh…"

Amanda was saved when Grace walked toward the man posing as her husband. Nick extended his arm out for a handshake but she ignored the gesture by pressing her cheeks on his, like some kind of classy European lady. Nick felt a little embarrassed, but he instantly collected himself. If he pretended Grace was just one of his mom's friends or one of his aunts from Miami, then the social kiss wouldn't have been so weird.

"How was your drive? I hope it wasn't too bad. Did you pass by the town on your way here? Isn't it lovely? It's especially charming this time of the year," she said, not giving him much of a chance to respond.

"It was nice – the drive and the town," Nick replied with a smile. His hand released the handle of the suitcase as he pointed to the large house. "You have a very beautiful home."

"Well, aren't you just the sweetest thing," she gushed, looking over her shoulder at Amanda and pressing her hands over her heart. Grace craned her neck to see the bags behind him and the rest of their things in the back of the car. "Don't worry about those. Paloma will take them to the guesthouse."

Nick looked up at the open foyer to see a short Latina woman in a navy and white maid's uniform. "Amanda and I have a lot of stuff… I really don't mind bringing it down myself."

Grace stroked her chin with a delicate and manicured finger, her blue eyes surveying the taut muscles of his arms. "Well, if you insist." She returned to Amanda and they linked arms as they headed inside the house. Paloma hopped down the steps to help Nick, who found it really hard to let go of the innate chivalry and refuse her assistance, especially when the woman reminded him of his own mother. In the end, he let her carry the lighter items because, like his own mother, she was just as stubborn.

As Grace led her into the house, Amanda silently marveled at the interiors. Everything was so pristine and well decorated, down to the knick-knacks and mementos that lined the shelves and the contemporary art that hung on the walls. Grace explained that she has always been a fan of the traditional aesthetic, but she needed to find a compromise because her husband refused to let go of his Marcel Dzama paintings.

In the living room, the furniture was arranged around a two-story stone fireplace. Grace unlinked her arm and sat down on an armchair with a back that towered over her head. Amanda took a seat adjacent on the brown leather Chesterfield sofa. Smoothing her white skirt over her legs, she took in the sheer grandeur of the room without appearing too overcome by it. After all, she was supposed to have grown up in similar living conditions.

"I am so pleased you got in touch with me, Mandy," she said with a genuine smile. "I know you were still young when your mother passed away so, perhaps, you don't remember; but we truly were the best of friends."

Amanda nodded. "I do remember. She wrote about it in her journals. She wrote a lot of good things about you, Mrs. Hux – I mean, Grace."

"Seeing you now… Goodness, you look so much like Bella." She dabbed the corner of her eye as tears threatened to spill over. Reaching for a picture frame on the side table, Grace pointed to a blonde woman standing center among five other women. "This was taken outside the sorority house. Your mother – bless her heart – she always had the brightest smile."

It was a picture Amanda had never seen from the collection of files the department had on Amanda Marsden. She almost felt guilty sharing that moment with a woman who was under the impression that she was someone else. Internally, she reminded herself that this was a job and she couldn't let personal feelings get in the way of completing her mission. As she studied the picture, she couldn't help but be in awe at the resemblance she shared with Bella. Besides the blonde hair, they shared the same feline shape of their eyes and the same bow of their upper lip. She traced her finger over the picture and considered the woman's smile, which was more far-reaching and brighter than her own.

"You could take that with you to the guesthouse," Grace suggested. "I haven't decorated it with any personal mementos to allow my visitors to make it feel like home."

Amanda smiled softly and held the picture close to her chest. "Thank you."

The conversation took on a lighter mood as Grace asked her about her life post-college and the story of how she met Nicolas. Before Grace could pry some more and ask about the possibility of having children, Phillip joined them in the living room. A tall, lanky man with salt and pepper hair, the retired doctor turned out to be more reserved than his wife. Nonetheless, Amanda discovered that he was just as warm and welcoming as his wife of forty-two years.

From the foyer, they heard two voices speaking fluent Spanish. Amanda should have known that her partner could speak the language just by looking at him. What she didn't expect was the way his voice affected her – how it made her face feel hot and her legs feel like Jell-O. Paloma said something in rapid-fire Spanish and Nick's ensuing laugh echoed against the walls. They emerged into the living room and Amanda picked up on the instantly planted stoic look on Paloma's face. She excused herself and scurried off toward the kitchen.

"Isn't that great, Gracie? Someone around the house who can finally converse in Spanish; he's probably Paloma's favorite guest already." Phillip said, rising from his chair. He reached out to shake Nick's hand. "Phillip Huxley. Pleasure to meet you."

Nick gripped the man's hand and bowed his head. He was secretly grateful that Phillip hadn't chosen to kiss him on the cheek just as his wife had done. "Nicolas Santiago… Thank you so much for letting me and my wife stay in your home for the summer."

Phillip glanced over at his wife and smiled adoringly. "Gracie loves having company, especially when it's old friends."

"Well, Nicolas, you've seen the guesthouse. What do you think?" Grace asked expectantly.

"It's amazing," he answered, a little lost for words. Truth be told, Nick was already stunned when he was driving up and he saw the main house. But when he saw the cabin by the water, he was simply rendered speechless.

Quaint and peaceful – it was a good distance away from the Huxley's home to afford guests their privacy. To get to it, one needed to go down a set of stairs to a deck decorated with a hammock and outdoor dining furniture. Around the corner, there was an outdoor shower. And extending from the deck was a dock that led further out to the water – a perfect spot to dive from for an early morning swim.

Inside the cabin, billowy curtains encased large windows that faced the water. A small living room set, with mismatched throw pillows and cozy fleece blankets, were pushed against the wall. A vintage desk stood opposite, overlooking the view. A galley kitchen was nestled on one side and across, a bathroom with a deep claw foot tub. A narrow staircase led up to a loft that looked out on the living area of the first floor. A queen-sized bed bordered the banister and sat in between two side tables with mismatched lamps. While small, the bedroom opened up to French doors that led out to a balcony.

"To be honest," Nick started, "I don't think I'd want to leave that guesthouse at the end of the summer." He caught the flash of horror in Amanda's eyes and he reveled in the effect it had on her. Grace beamed with pride, knowing that her hospitality was, once again, unparalleled.

After chatting about Nick's job as a sports agent, the off-season, and sports in general, Phillip and Grace toured the younger couple around the property. The rest of the house was even more breathtaking and the garden out back was more idyllic than most things Amanda has seen in magazines. A back patio pointed the way to a swimming pool bordered by lounge chairs. At the far end, there was an escarpment with a small vegetable garden on the west side and the guesthouse on the east. Nick was right when Grace asked him what he thought of their living arrangements; the place was amazing. While the main house was lavish and beautiful, there was an understated whimsy about the small cabin by the water.

Amanda walked beside Grace as they headed back toward the house for lunch. Paloma had prepared a light meal, which promised to be just enough anticipating tonight's celebratory feast. Nick and Phillip trailed behind, talking about football and car restoration, which the older man enthused Nick about. Once he learned that Nick had an interest in cars (like most men, really), Phillip offered to let him help restore a midnight blue Ferrari Daytona he won at a car auction in the early nineties.

"This is the first time in a while that we've had a visitor capture my husband's attention," Grace began as they followed the pathway through the garden. "Normally, Phillip holes himself up in his office or tinkers away in the garage. It's nice to see him look so happy and so excited to share his hobbies." She looked behind her at the two men and smiled to herself. "You chose a good one, Mandy."


	3. Enigma

**AN:** _Thank you to everyone who left reviews for chapter two. Really enjoyed reading your thoughts - what you like and what you don't like. I'll keep that into consideration moving forward. Anyway, here's chapter three! Not as easy to write as the previous two, but hopefully you'll still like it as much as you probably enjoyed that Rollins-centric episode. Read, enjoy, and REVIEW!_

 _P.S. Kim is crazy and I hate her, but she's going to be such a fun character to play with in future chapters. ;)_

* * *

 **Hush**

 **3\. Enigma**

* * *

Dinner at the Huxley household moved at a slow and scheduled pace. It started with drinks at the sitting room, where Phillip offered only the best single malt scotch from his collection. Nick took the glass as if he was bestowed the highest honor, and Amanda had to exercise all her composure to keep from rolling her eyes. They were falling in love with him. For someone who grew up in East Harlem, he seemed to fit impeccably with the upper-class types. But it wasn't as if he was pretending to be some rich aristocrat from South Florida; he was just being himself – polite, outgoing, and charming. Amanda couldn't help but feel jealous at how effortless he made this look, when she was sweating just thinking about what to say next.

After a drawn-out conversation about skyrocketing prices of real estate in Manhattan, Paloma appeared at the archway and announced dinner was ready. _Thank god_ , Amanda cried to herself. While they discussed numbers that made her Atlanta one-bedroom sound like a bargain, all she could think about was the food that wasn't yet in her belly. The aroma of roasted lamb and summer vegetables floated through the halls and right under her nostrils, her mouth watering just at the thought of dinner.

While the salad served at lunch suited the kind of woman who spent most of her day lounging under the sun and comparing her weight to the models in magazines, it didn't do anything for Amanda's appetite. As soon as she and Nick returned to the cabin, her stomach grumbled for a big helping of country fried steak and a baked sweet potato drenched in butter.

Earlier that day, they unpacked in silence. He emptied his suitcase into the closet in less time than it took her to untangle the cords of her blow dryer and laptop charger. From one of the boxes, he pulled out a safe and placed it deep in the closet. He asked if the six-digit combination would work for her, and when she merely shrugged her shoulders in response, he worked on setting it up. "Where's yours?" he asked as he stored his gun and badge inside. From her spot on the floor, she looked up with a pasted smile on her face. "I can store my own gun, thank-you-very-much."

After appetizers were served, plates were cleared and more wine was poured. Paloma brought out the main course - stunning but minuscule racks of lamb sitting on a bed of sprouts. Those portions would be laughed at in the South; nonetheless, the morsels of meat she gets from its bones were delicious.

Over dinner, Grace was extra interested in all the details of their lives – from college to their intimate wedding to the prospect of having children. Amanda stammered trying to come up with a coherent response when Grace reminded her she was thirty and her eggs were ticking. Nick swooped in, turning to his 'wife' with a boyish smirk on his face. "We've discussed children, but we want to wait until we're settled in the city… Maybe a year or two, give or take. Right, babe?"

The smile on her face was thin but, thankfully, it went unnoticed by the couple sitting across the table. "Right."

By the time dessert arrived, the conversation turned to Phillip's proclivity for frequenting used car auctions. Grace teased him about how he would come home every first Sunday of the month with a classic car that blew dust from the exhaust pipe. She said a part of why her husband took on these projects was because he missed being in the operating room, and the next best thing was tinkering below the hood of a first generation Ford Mustang. But Philip asserted it wasn't that he's trying to replace neurosurgery for auto mechanics; he just saw it as his next great challenge.

Grace looked at him with a subtle shake of her head, her eyes lighting up with adoration. She reached for his hand and stroked it with her thumb.

Swallowing down the berry trifle, Amanda averted her eyes from the couple so nauseatingly in love. They've been married for over forty years and, clearly, still so enamored with each other. Stealing a glance at her pretend-husband, who was happily too distracted with his own plate of desert to notice, she fixed her eyes on a spot of custard on the corner of his mouth. She leaned a little closer to him and whispered, "You have something." She pointed to her own chin. "There's some cream –"

"—Where?" he asked and pressed the cloth napkin over his lips. He smudged it but failed to get rid of it entirely. "Is it still there?"

Before Amanda could overthink and stop herself from making her next move, she lifted her hand and swiped her thumb over the custard. She brushed over the smooth curve of his lips, his warm breath ghosting over her skin. Their eyes locked, frozen for what felt like an eternity, before she retrieved her hand and set it down on her lap. Smoothing her palms over the napkin, she set them just above her knees and kept them there like a scolded child on time-out. Slowly, she lifted her head to see, across the table, the knowing looks exchanged between Grace and Phillip.

* * *

Nick never understood the appeal of taking baths. He had always preferred showers; they were just more efficient. Baths required someone to sit there swimming in their own filth, staring at a tiled wall and dying from boredom. But his options were limited during his stay at the guesthouse, unless he decided to start taking showers in the barely enclosed space outside (privacy be damned). He couldn't take these living arrangements for granted though, even when the practicality of a stand-up shower was passed up for the aesthetics of a claw foot tub. It _still_ beat sleeping on the floor of a crack house.

Rinsing the shampoo out of his head was a challenge. He nearly had to lie flat to stick his head under the tap; and even then, he managed to get some of the suds in his eyes. Ready to swear of bathtubs for the duration of his stay, Nick reached for the towel.

He slipped on a pair of grey sweats and opened the door, steam drifting and disappearing into the main living area. Rubbing the towel at his soaked hair, he stood back and watched Amanda on the floor surrounded by yellow folders and scattered pages of police reports. Since he had gone to the bathroom, she's changed into a University of South Carolina t-shirt and a pair of blue flannel shorts that barely covered her outstretched legs. Gone was the bejeweled pin in her hair, now replaced with an elastic that tied her hair into a messy knot. Gone was Amanda Marsden; enter Amanda Rollins.

Nick stood right behind her to peep at the file she was currently too engrossed in to notice his proximity. "What you got there?"

"Jesus!" Her back went rigid and her hand flew over her chest. The folder slid from her lap down to the floor. She snapped her head back, her mouth already wired with a scowl. "Don't creep up on me… like… that…" Her voice quieted down upon seeing him in his half-naked state, tanned skin still glistening from the beads of water on his chest. Her lips parted and her throat ran dry. She blinked and averted her gaze.

Nick furrowed his brows at her, but a tiny smirk creeped into his face as he noticed the crimson flush spreading across her cheeks. He picked up on the way her hands shook as she scrambled to collect whatever file she could reach. A small chuckle escaped his lips as he took a step back and settled onto the couch. "So, uh, I was thinking… You should take the bed –"

"—Great!" she interrupted, scooping up the folders in her arms and rising from the floor. "Good night!"

"Uh… Good night?"

She leaped up the stairs and left him even more confused. Nick threw the towel on the armrest and shrugged as he watched her figure disappear up to the loft.

He pushed some of the throw pillows on the floor to make some room and reclined on the couch. He was about a foot too tall, and either his legs hung off the end of the couch or his neck needed to be elevated on the armrest. He tried to lie on his side to find a comfortable position but that didn't work. Giving up, he reached for the switch and turned off the light.

Nick tossed and turned for the rest of the night no thanks to his cramped sleeping arrangements and the sound of the tides crashing against the rocks. There was something too peaceful about it, something so far removed from the chaos and traffic noise he was used to in his Bronx neighborhood.

Hanging his upper body off the couch, he braced his arm on the coffee table to reach for his phone. He looked at the time. It was half past three. He considered calling Olivia to see how things have been back in the 1-6, but he remembered he hadn't even been away for twenty-four hours. He also imagined his partner driving up to the Hamptons, blowing his cover, and strangling him for waking her up at a godforsaken time for no particular reason other than boredom. Sighing, he set his phone back down and stared up at the vaulted ceilings. His eyes followed the wood beams down to the faint glow of orange light upstairs.

Amanda was still awake.

Nick rolled off the couch and wiped the sporadic sleep from his eyes. As he climbed the narrow staircase, he swore to himself that one day, he would trip over it, land face first, and end up with a splinter in his eye. When he got to the top step, he saw her sitting cross legged on top of the bed; the case files lain haphazardly around her. She heard the creak of the stairs and her head spun around.

"Sorry, I thought you fell asleep and accidentally left the light on."

"What time is it?" she asked, her brows knitting together.

"Almost four."

"Shit," she muttered under her breath. Her fingers ran through her hair, mussing up the bun barely hanging off the back of her head.

"Get some sleep, Amanda." He took one step down, stopping to give her a rueful smile. "We can work on those in the morning."

She closed a folder and shoved it to the other side of the bed. Turning on her side, she imparted a small smile before she reached for the lamp switch. Darkness and silence settled between them.

The only thing illuminating his path downstairs was the moonlight.

* * *

Nick shielded his eyes from the harsh glare of the sun; and when that wasn't enough, he rolled around to bury his face into the pillow. He groaned as his attempt to return to sleep was interrupted by a knock on the door. Lifting his head, he prayed for the visitor to change their mind and go away; but the knocks continued. He slipped on a shirt before he checked to see who was at the door

"Good morning!" Grace greeted him with the sort of cheerfulness that was borderline eerie. "I came by to drop these off," she said, holding up two bags full of groceries. "Paloma and I stopped by the farmers' market this morning and I thought your pantry could use some stocking up. Of course, you're always welcome to join us in the house for meals… But don't feel obligated to. I assume you and your wife would also like your privacy now and then."

"Thanks, Grace… Wow, this is very generous of you."

"Please, darling," she said with a flick of her wrist. "If Phillip hasn't already said it a hundred times, entertaining visitors and making them feel welcome in my home is my favorite leisure activity."

"Well, you're definitely great at it."

"You are such a sweetheart!" She clasped her hands together in glee. She was about to turn on her heel, when the expression on her face unexpectedly faded. Placing a hand on her hip, Grace's eyes scanned over his haggard appearance. "Forgive me for mentioning it, but you look rather tired. Did you not sleep well?"

"Oh. No, no… I slept fine." He shrugged his shoulder and threw her a sheepish smile, masking the dull ache running the length of his spine. Somehow, one night on that couch was enough to misalign a few vertebrae. "Just takes a while for me to get used to new beds. That's all… But don't get me wrong, it's very comfortable."

She fell for the lie as the worried expression was instantly replaced with a delighted smile. "Anyway, I better get going. I have a spinning class at the club in an hour and – " she stopped herself as if something had struck a cord in her brain. "You know what, I just remembered tomorrow is the Start of Summer benefit at the clubhouse. It used to be this casual brunch among some of the ladies in town, but every year it's gotten bigger and bigger. This year, we're doing a fundraiser for charities that support women. I'd love if you and Mandy would come; I'd like to introduce you two to our friends."

"Yeah, that sounds great," Nick said. "I'll have to run it by her but I'm sure she'll be thrilled… She loves parties."

* * *

Her body glided through the water, arms pushing forward and legs smoothly kicking. She sunk deeper until she reached the wall. She flipped around to swim to the other side. Oxygen ran thin in her lungs and she broke through the surface, her chest gasping and her hair clinging to the nape of her neck. Above her, the sky darkened a deep gray with a foreshadowing of a summer storm.

The swim was to clear Amanda's head. With Nick around constantly, she felt like she couldn't breathe. She felt as though someone was always looming over her shoulder and slowly uncovering the lies she had told just to make it within miles of her sister. Even though she and Nick had barely exchanged words since the disastrous car ride to Southampton, his presence alone had been enough to make her feel like a nervous wreck. And it was so remote from the composed and confident detective she was back home.

Every little thing he did seemed to irritate her. The way he paced around the cabin in his state of endless state of restlessness drove her over the edge. She couldn't stand the way he felt it necessary to voice his speculations on a case he was relatively unfamiliar with – a case that was essentially new to him.

Within their first day at the Huxley residence, Amanda concluded that Nick did not thrive being cooped up in one place for a long period of time. He also hated not having anyone to talk to. He frequently checked his phone and went through his contact list, pondering if he should risk breaking protocol by calling his partner or his daughter. By mid-afternoon, he took the car keys and said he was going out for a drive to town. He asked Amanda if she wanted to come along, but she called for a rain check.

Amanda pushed herself off the ledge and walked to the beach towel laid out on the lounge chair. She thought she spotted a figure standing by the window in the main house. She ignored it, thinking she must've been seeing things. Wrapping the towel around her body, she headed back to the cabin.

The second she opened the door, her whole body was chilled to the bone. She saw the files – _her_ files – spread out on the desk. Nick was there. He wasn't supposed to be there. But he was pacing in the middle of the living room with a black notebook in his hands, his eyes concentrated on the blue ink on the pages. Amanda marched forward and snatched her notebook, ripping off the page he was just reading.

"What the fuck, Amanda?" He yelled; his arms stretched out beside him.

"What do you think you're doing going through my stuff?"

" _Your_ stuff?" he said incredulously. "I have just as much access to these files as you do."

"Not this!" She waved the notebook in his face; her other hand clutched tightly to the knot above her breasts. The last thing that needed to happen was accidentally exposing herself in front of him – undercover-husband or not.

"What are you talking about? That was in the box along with everything else… It's not like it says 'property of Amanda Rollins' on it."

"These are _my_ notes! I can't believe you would go through them."

Nick scoffed and shook his head. "You're acting as if I just read your diary. Would you relax? It's not a big deal."

Her bottom lip trembled. "Not a big deal?" Her breaths became labored. "Oh my g – How would you feel if I just read through your notes right now?"

Nick took a leather bound notebook from the desk and handed it over to her. "Go ahead. Read it." She didn't actually think he would take her up on the challenge and fork it up so easily. He pushed it forward again, his eyes blazing with intensity. "Take it. Unlike you, I actually want to work together to solve this case. I have nothing to hide and neither should you."

"But you don't just go through someone's property –"

"—I told you, it was in the box with everything else. Besides, if it pertains to the case, I should know about it."

Amanda held the notebook close to her chest, practically embracing it to keep it away from him. "How much have you read?"

"Not much… I mean, you came bursting in here and ripped it out of my hands." Nick placed his hand behind his neck and looked down on the ground. His voice lowered as he took a tentative step toward her. "Were you ever planning on telling me about the –" He licked his lips and swallowed hard. "Why didn't you say anything about the sex parties?"

"Nick, I – look, that's just a theory. There's no proof behind it. It's all hearsay."

"Really? Because you have a whole lot of evidence to substantiate the links between those parties and the prostitution ring… But you kept this from the department because you knew they would never sign off on it. They would never send two detectives – two sex crimes detectives, for Christ's sake – out here to some fucking… orgy." He steepled his fingers over his mouth and blew out a shaky breath. "A sex trafficking ring throwing private sex parties in the Hamptons – I mean, it makes sense. This is how they sell their girls, right?"

"Yeah, I think this is how they keep it in-house," Amanda said, chewing on her lip. "That way the girls have nowhere to go and no chance to escape, and the johns can be assured of their anonymity."

"So what was your plan? Huh?" Nick asked. "Were you just going to ask for an invite?"

She rolled her eyes and stormed past him, shoving the folders back into the box. "It's not that simple. These parties are heavily guarded. No one talks about them; otherwise, johns risk getting tossed out or exposed. If you ask about it, you essentially lose your shot of ever getting invited. They have to notice you."

"Who's 'they'?" Nick demanded, the lines on his forehead creasing. To him, it all sounded like the sex version of Fight Club with the same rules but just a different kind of felony. She dropped her shoulders and lowered her head in response. "Amanda, you can't keep vital information like this from me. This is the thing that could make or break our investigation."

"Don't you think I know that?" she cried out. "I didn't tell you because, like you said, the department would never authorize it. We don't even know what happens at those parties, but it sure as hell ain't legal!" Amanda had done her research and looked at past cases and how much criminal activity the department sanctioned. There was a possibility they would've said 'yes', but it was hard to tell for sure, especially when she still had yet to discover the true nature of the parties. "Nick, I didn't tell you because I know you would freak out and you'd never agree to do it… And that's fine. Whatever. You don't have to do it… Just let me handle it, ok?"

"Fuck no! I'm not letting you do this on your own. Do you have any idea what kind of danger you'd be putting yourself in?"

"I can take care of myself." She took the lid and sealed the box.

He ran his hand across his hair in frustration. "We're partners in this, ok? You don't withhold information from me and you don't do things behind my back. Got it?"

Amanda glared at him. On top of all the things Nick Amaro had done in the last twenty-four hours, speaking to her in this paternalistic and condescending voice was the one that riled her up the most. She got close to his face, her fists clenched at her sides. "Just mind your own business from now on. _Got it?_ "

She shoved past him and rushed up the stairs. Nick threw his hands up, muttering something that would earn him a swift slap on the head if his mother were ever to hear it. "If it concerns this investigation, then it sure as hell is my business," he shouted, making sure he got the last word.

He swiped the car keys from the desk and headed out for some fresh air. It was times like these when he could really use a drive through the countryside. Some time alone would help him make sense of the strong possibility that he had only scratched the surface of her findings. But, ultimately, what he really wanted to know was _why_ Amanda Rollins was so hell-bent on pursuing this case.


	4. Whiskey

**AN:** _Thank you to those who took the time to leave reviews for chapter 3! Everyone seems to want them to get it on and attend the sex parties, but they're gonna need an invite first. And they can't just go and ask for one... because that would be *so* lame. So here we are. I forgot to mention this in the beginning, but in this story, I imagine Amanda to be 30 and Nick to be 36 (but Zara's already 8). In this chapter, I'll be introducing some characters who may be major players in this story moving forward, or they could just be decoys - idk! Please read on to find out and don't forget to leave a review (if you like it, if you hate it, if you want to yell at me to make them fall in love/have sex, if you have theories...)._

* * *

 **Hush**

 **4\. Whiskey**

* * *

Sunday – the Lord's Day – when families passed the threshold of church doors in their best clothes, little Tommy tugging on the bowtie wrapped around his neck. Knees genuflected on pews; heads bowed at the altar to worship a God that, mercy permitting, would forgive them for their sins. It was also a day for beachgoers to set up their umbrellas, rising early to reserve a prime spot close enough to the water. Above their heads, the clouds cleared out to reveal a sky so brilliantly blue it mirrored Amanda's eyes.

Nick drove past ornamental trees and stone fountains of cherubs pouring water into the mouths of fish. He pulled up at the entranceway, where there was a line of uniformed men standing at attention. The one who hopped down the marble steps was wearing a smart red jacket with gold piping and a round hat with a flat top. He opened the passenger side door first and escorted Amanda out of the car, before he jogged around to take the driver's side. Nick tossed the valet the car keys in exchange for a ticket printed out in embossed calligraphy. Slipping it into the pocket of his tan blazer, he watched as the black SUV rolled away.

Amanda stood by the wide open doors of the aptly named Southampton Clubhouse. She chewed on her lip as her eyes darted around taking in her surroundings. Her hands were busy pulling up the straps of her dress so the neckline sat higher on her chest; then she moved her hands down to smooth over the wrinkles on her hips.

She was this way the entire car ride over, fidgeting with the length and cut of her dress, and readjusting the sweep of her bangs. It didn't seem like it was out of vanity, because not once did she pull down the mirror to check her appearance. It was her nerves. And Nick would have said something about it had they been speaking to each other, but ever since their fight the previous night, communication had been reduced to simple questions with yes or no answers.

Now, heading into ground zero of the elite Southampton community, Amanda needed to stop acting like she was on pins and needles. Potentially, they would be shaking hands and rubbing elbows with some men and women who profited, in one way or another, from a subversive sex industry that was like an epidemic in this town. If this was going to work, Amanda needed to let go of her hang-ups and play it cool.

Nick met her at the top step and he noticed her eyes cast down on her feet, polished toes adorned in nude stilettos with delicate straps. She twisted her body sideways and folded her arms over her chest. He sensed her aversion to their proximity, which he knew was going to be an obstacle to their plans. "I know you hate me right now, but we have a job to do," he said, his voice so low and rich against the shell of her ear. "Stop stressing about how you look. The dress is fine… You look fine."

Her lids, shaded with cream and gold shadow, fluttered up to meet his dark eyes. She was taken aback slightly upon the awareness of how close he'd gotten since he approached her. She reared her head back, tilting it to the side, as she gave him a smile so nearly invisible she was like the Mona Lisa.

The receiving area of the clubhouse was open and grand with archways looking out to gardens, tennis courts, and a saltwater pool. Hanging above their heads was a crystal chandelier that caught the light and reflected it back down on the pristine white and gray marble. A man in a velvet vest walked around with a tray of champagne flutes, offering them to guests.

At the far end of the lobby, they caught sight of Grace waving them over. She had a mimosa in one hand while her other arm was linked under her husband's. "I'm so pleased you two made it." She pressed kisses on both their cheeks while Phillip stood behind and gave them an awkward, lopsided smile. "Brunch is downstairs by the pool," she said, leading the way down a sweeping staircase.

Following behind the older couple, Nick guided Amanda by placing his hand on the small of her back. She flinched immediately at the contact and whipped her head around to stare coldly in his direction.

Nick narrowed his eyes and leaned close to her as she took an unsettled step away from him, her hand gripping the edge of the railing. He drew closer and rested his arms on either side of her, giving her nowhere else to go. Lowering his head to meet her steely gaze, he whispered, "The only way we can convince these people we're married is if you stop acting like a prude around me."

"I am not a prude," she seethed, her eyes wide in shock and outrage.

"Everything all right?" They both looked down to see Grace and Phillip at the bottom step. Both sets of brows furrowed as if wondering about the hold-up.

Amanda plastered a coy smile on her face, her cheeks tinting into a soft shade of pink. "Everything's fine. I was just telling Nick I really like this shirt on him," she said, her hands smoothing down the light blue shirt. Her teeth clamped down on her bottom lip as her eyes drifted up to meet his. A smirk curled up on her face as she shook her head and turned back to the other couple. Playing up the ditzy and adorable Southern accent, she said, "I'm sorry y'all… He just gets me so distracted sometimes."

* * *

The first introductions were to four women who were the lifeblood of the social community in the Hamptons. They were the ones who set up weekly brunch meetings; they were the ones who came up with the idea of having a Start of Summer benefit. It was their choice to organize a lavish brunch to raise funds toward a New York City charity that aimed to help women, who were victims of domestic violence. If, indeed, today's brunch was littered with people who availed of the services of the sex trafficking ring, then the brutal irony was not lost on the two detectives.

"Welcome to the Hamptons," greeted Violet Walker, the self-proclaimed queen bitch of Southampton. Her rhinoplastied nose constantly turned up and her botoxed face perpetually expressionless. Despite all the work she had done to augment her face, she was still a very attractive woman who made an impression just by being present in a room. She was the one who walked around as if she owned the place, and chances were she did by extension of her real estate mogul husband. She smiled tightly, a barely conspicuous nasolabial crease that was contrary to the fact that she was pushing the latter edge of her forties. "We've heard from the grapevine that you were having visitors, Grace. I wasn't expecting them to be so… young."

"Yes, Amanda here is the daughter of a close friend from college."

"Oh, that's wonderful," Violet began. "Some of my best memories are with my girl friends from Sarah Lawrence. It's so nice that you've stayed in touch with Amanda's mother throughout the years."

Grace's smile faltered as she began to stammer, "Well, actually –"

"—My mother passed away when I was six," Amanda interrupted, saving Grace from having to make the awkward disclosure. The four women simultaneously brought their hands over their hearts, their glossy mouths dropping open in either genuine or feigned sympathy. "It's ok… It was a long time ago."

"Oh, you poor darling," said the woman with a British accent. Her name is Paula Young, and she was next on the social hierarchy within their little group. She was the youngest among the women – the third wife to the Chief Financial Officer of a cyber security firm in Manhattan. A former model, she was tall and thin with striking features of hazel eyes and a dusting of freckles set against her caramel skin.

"So, Nick, what is it that you do again?" Paula asked, her thick lashes fluttering as she posed the question.

"I worked at a sports agency. I represented clients from the Dolphins, Marlins – you know, teams from Miami. It's not as interesting as it sounds; it's mostly just drafting salary contracts and merchandising deals."

"No, no. It all sounds very fascinating." She took a sip from her cocktail, her eyes giving him a lascivious once-over. "You know, I used to date a few athletes… I didn't know their agents were also so sexy." Paula removed the skinny straw from her drink and bit into one end.

Nick chuckled nervously as he felt his face grow hot from the startling attention from the gorgeous woman. It wasn't like he was never hit on by the opposite sex. But a former model? That had to be a first.

Amanda spotted the diamond ring and silver band on Paula's left hand. "So, Paula, how long have you been married?"

Her full mouth turned down into a scowl.

"Their four year wedding anniversary was actually a week ago," answered an auburn-haired, petite woman.

It was easy to forget there were two other women in their posse, because Violet and Paula had a certain presumptuous air about them that filled an entire room. Left in the sidelines were Bronwyn Gaffney and Sally Livingston – two women who were still fairly attractive, still dressed to the nines, and still had designer purses tucked into the crook of their arms. They just didn't have the same kind of presence as the other two women.

Together, they all reminded Amanda of the mean girls in high school. And while some people from Loganville High might have said that eighteen-year-old Amanda Rollins had a bit of a mean streak of her own, she was never quite as consumed with appearances or as fake amongst her friends as these women. It didn't take a body language expert to figure out that beneath the bleached smiles, there was an undercurrent of animosity between them – or at least, between Violet and Paula.

* * *

Amanda half-listened to the ladies' conversation as she fixed her gaze on the scene on the other side of the pool. Nick was chatting with two other men with slicked back hair and pastel pocket squares peeking out of their light-colored jackets. One of the men tilted his head to the side and listened with interest as Nick spoke. It was impossible to tell what they were talking about; but moments later, they exchanged a few words and their circle erupted in laughter.

"Amanda, do you have cotillion down in South Carolina?" asked Bronwyn. At the mention of her name, Amanda blinked and faced the other women. She was about to open her mouth in response when Violet beat her to the punch.

"Don't be ridiculous," she said with a roll of her eyes. "Of course they do. The South practically invented it."

"Actually, I believe it was a French dance before it was brought over here to America," Sally corrected her friend, which earned her a tight smile.

"Cotillion? Yeah – uh, that's right… I debuted when I was sixteen," Amanda answered meekly.

"You're a young woman so you must remember your experience like it was yesterday," Bronwyn started. "Perhaps you could talk some sense into my daughter. She refuses to participate – calls it an archaic practice that reinforces the objectification of women or something like that."

Violet took a sip of her screwdriver. "Bron, I warned you about letting that girl live with her father." She leaned toward Amanda and fake whispered, "Her ex-husband, Michael, is a gay democrat… he's practically a socialist if you ask me."

"He used to be this big-shot lawyer until he came out of the closet," Paula added, nonchalantly inspecting her lavender-painted nails. "Then he quit his job and became a public defender. It's like he grew a conscience… or a pussy," she giggled to herself.

"Basically, he became boring," Violet added with a breathy laugh. "To be fair to him, stepping down from his job and moving out of town was a great strategy in keeping The Pages from talking about his coming out."

"The Pages?" Amanda asked.

"The Society Pages – it's a weekly paper delivered here in the Hamptons. They have these dull articles about homemaking, but they also cover events and promote fundraisers. To be honest, most people I know only look at it for the pictures," Violet explained as she pointed to a photographer wearing an olive green vest. He rounded up a group of men and snapped their picture before moving onto an attractive blonde woman in the crowd. She looked familiar, like someone Amanda had seen hosting a morning talk show. Violet set her drink down on the glass table and folded her hands together. "You're nobody in this town if you're not seen."

"It's true," Paula agrees with a nod.

"You know, I think I might have seen that paper on Grace's coffee table the other day." Amanda recalled the large red print 'The Society Pages' and the bold headline below it. There was a picture of a man on his yacht on the front page. She didn't think much of it at the time, but as the women explained its significance to their vapid social circle, she began to consider The Pages to be her new Bible.

"Grace has a heart of gold, but you wouldn't have much luck finding her face printed in there," Violet said. "The Huxleys are lovely people, don't get me wrong. And Phillip comes from generations of doctors, so they're old money, and they'll always get invited to these benefits and galas… But the real fun stuff?" she started, with a twinkle of malevolence in her eyes. "They're too old-fashioned, too low-profile for that… So if you want a memorable summer, Amanda, then you better stick with us."

* * *

"So what happened?" Nick asked, stealing Amanda away from the other women and pulling her to a quiet corner.

"I think I got roped into joining a cult."

He cocked his head to the side and looked at her with pronounced indifference. He rested his hands on his hips as he assumed serious mode, hoping she caught on to the hint. "Anything to confirm there's something illegal going on?"

She shook her head. "No, but we can't expect them to just dole out that information to strangers. Besides, they can't talk about it, remember?"

Nick nodded and looked across the pool to briefly watch the two other men he was speaking with. "Jacobson and Kline – two traders, both married with kids – but they were bragging about chasing tail out in the city while their wives are stuck here."

"That only proves that they're cheating scumbags. It doesn't prove that they were soliciting from escorts."

"I know," Nick said with a sigh. "But they could be… I mean, they fit the profile of a john. And right now, it's all we have."

"Not exactly. Violet and her squad of mean girls," Amanda started, "They organize most of these social events, but I don't think any of them are actually business-savvy enough to lead an entire sex trafficking ring. But it doesn't mean I don't think they're players in the game… I'm sure Violet and Paula know something about it." She tried to remember the other two women, and for a moment, their names escaped her. "The other two are naïve housewives; they're pretty much lackeys. But what they all have in common is that they're thirsty to be seen in The Society Pages."

"Society Pages?"

"It's like some tabloid for the rich and –" She stopped as she noticed Nick's eyes looking past her head. "What's wrong?" she asked, beginning to turn around but he stopped her by grabbing her shoulders.

"Don't look, but Violet and the others are staring." He lowered his head slightly, his brows furrowed. "Do you think we look suspicious?"

She placed a hand on her hip and twisted her mouth into a frown. "I mean, we're tucked away in the corner whispering to each other. To them, we're either scheming or…" she trailed off as a light bulb flashed above her head. Taking a deep breath, Amanda closed the gap between them. "Put your hands on my hips."

"What?"

"Just do it," she hissed, her eyes widening in warning. "You said we needed to convince these people we were married, what better time than now."

Nick slid his palms from her shoulders down to the curve of her hips, the smooth fabric of her dress causing pinpricks of static on his fingertips. She inched closer until her torso was pressed up against his body, his chest suddenly tightening at the contact. There was something comforting knowing this aspect of their undercover work wasn't as easy for him as he made it out to be. Amanda should have felt smug at the thought that he talked a big game but couldn't quite deliver, but she was more distracted by how she found his shyness kind of endearing.

Her gaze moved from his chest to the Adam's apple bobbing in his throat, his eyes drifting lower to meet hers. Fair-skinned hands slid up his sun-kissed arms and rested on his broad shoulders. He was so close and so nervous; she could almost hear his heartbeat.

"Excuse me," A gruff voice came between their manufactured moment of affection.

Nick and Amanda separated slightly, standing side by side, but he kept an arm around her waist. They turned to face a man with bone white hair and eyes that were almost a translucent shade of gray.

"I'm Owen Walker, I don't think I've had the pleasure of meeting you." He extended his hand out and Amanda reached out to shake it. He lifted her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss on the back of it, without breaking eye contact. A smirk curled up on the corner of his mouth as she retrieved her hand from his grip. Continuing to eyeball her, Owen didn't give a damn if her husband was standing by her side.

As soon as he let go of her hand, Amanda instinctively rested it on Nick's bicep. It was not some calculated move in order to keep up with the appearances of a happily married couple, and the spontaneity of the action suddenly threw her off course. She watched wordlessly as the two men exchanged a solid handshake; Nick's jaw squaring as Owen pointed out he was a lucky man for having such a beautiful wife.

Amanda forced a stiff smile, which quickly faded as she spotted Violet from the corner of her eye. The brunette in the crisp white dress downed the rest of her cocktail, pulled her large cat-eye sunglasses over her eyes, and stormed off.

Mentally, she smacked her palm against her forehead. Of course, Owen Walker was Violet's husband.

* * *

Nick's fingers splayed on her hip as he nodded at the mostly one-sided conversation. Owen was still talking to them, discussing his real estate business and how he planned on building a suburban development in land he recently purchased from the Livingstons. It was a small world of money exchange among the select few. And she and Nick were on the outside barely catching a glimpse of its inner workings.

Amanda tried to listen and smile through the covetous glances Owen casted her way. Her hand still lingered on Nick's bicep, feeling the tense muscle relax slightly as the other man backed off and appeared less threatening. Being this close to Nick, she drew in the masculine, woodsy scent of his aftershave – it felt safe yet intoxicating.

As she opened her eyes, a certain figure appeared in her line of vision. Amanda blinked rapidly, her lids flickering like a moth's wings close to a flame. She spotted a young woman in a tiny hot pink dress that hung over her wiry frame. Long, skinny legs ended in six-inch black strappy heels. Among women dressed in relatively more conservative garb, the woman stuck out like a sore thumb; but not to the men around her who ogled and devoured her with their eyes. She stood in the arm of an older man, the back of his head reflecting sunlight from a discernible bald spot. And it wasn't the skimpy outfit or the odd choice in a date that garnered Amanda's fixation; it was the pin-straight, sandy blonde hair that fell to the woman's waist.

It was Kim.

Releasing her hold of Nick, Amanda slipped away from the gentle graze of his fingers on her lower back. Both men stopped mid-conversation and stared at her with concern. "Excuse me. I have to run to the ladies' room," she said quickly. And while Nick nodded in understanding, his brows still knotted together with worry.

Her heels clicked on the stone as she paced along the edge of the pool and straight for her sister. The man, who had her in his arm, began to turn around, his rotund belly prominent under his linen shirt. He had a scraggly beard and a large nose that curved like a crow's beak. He laughed obnoxiously, teeth yellow and gums blackened by decades of a cigarette addiction.

Amanda's stomach flipped at the realization that this was the kind of man Kim was being sold to. Not that whoring her self to a man who was less repulsive would make the situation more acceptable, but it certainly wouldn't have been as nauseating. She felt bile rise up her throat as she approached them. And when she got within two feet, the man swung the girl around to reveal her face. Small mouth and bright blue eyes just like Kim, but it wasn't her. It wasn't her sister.

Amanda swallowed hard. She didn't know whether she should feel relieved that it wasn't Kim or frustrated that she hadn't found her yet. A waiter passed by with a tray of champagne, and she swiped one without even being asked. Suddenly, the horrifying reality of their job was hitting her hard.

Right now, she was safe in the midst of privileged folk who benefited and profited from a shady enterprise; but there were also people on the other side – people who had no freedom, people who were harmed. One of those girls was her sister, forced against her will to work for a makeup allowance and cigarettes. And she might have been the primary reason why this mission was so important to Amanda, but Kim wasn't even the most helpless among their group. There were teenage girls somewhere on this island, trapped in a house and forced to turn tricks for rich, sleazy men who were, at this moment, in the thick of the party.

She pushed through the crowd with one end in sight. Reaching the bar, she held her hand up to get the bartender's attention. "A double whiskey on the rocks."

* * *

When Amanda didn't return from the bathroom right away, Nick assumed she must've been sidetracked into another series of introductions, just like he had. He got cornered into a discussion about advocacy work and women's charities, where a woman asked him point-blank if he identified as a feminist and wished to speak on the issues at a future convention.

Nick scratched his temple. "I mean, I believe that men and women should be treated equally. No question. But don't you think these issues are better voiced and represented by women?"

She aimed her eyes up to the sky as if she was pondering his statement, and he furrowed his brows as he waited for the wheels to turn in her head. Another man jumped into the conversation to insert his two cents; meanwhile, Nick looked around the pool for the woman playing his wife. Pulling out his phone, he pressed the home screen button and excused himself. "It was nice meeting all of you," he began, "but I have to answer this call."

He walked away with the phone pressed to his ear. Walking past the small crowd gathered around the platform, he observed donors dropping five figure checks toward the women's charity. He was so dead-set on heading upstairs to get a birds-eye view of the party that he almost missed her, sitting on a barstool with her back turned. She was laughing and chatting up a man, her Southern accent more distinct and her body language more inviting, even compared to when they were faking it earlier.

Nick swooped in just in time to hear a small part of their intimate conversation. "So what do y'all do out here for fun?" Amanda drawled, swirling her drink in the glass before polishing it off. She set it back down on the counter beside three other empty glasses.

The man leaned closer, that from Nick's angle, it looked like he was about to kiss her. Nick stepped between them, facing Amanda and blocking the other man from her line of sight.

"I think it's time to go."

Amanda narrowed her eyes and refused to move. "I'm still talking to Kevin –"

" – It's Keith, actually," he corrected, angling sideways to get a look at her. He, then, turned his head toward the man obstructing his view. "I'm sorry, but who are you again?"

Nick heaved out a tired sigh before he faced Keith. "I'm her husband." He held his hand up to show the silver wedding band on his finger. And with that, Keith held his hands up in surrender and walked away with his drink. By the time, Nick had his attention back on Amanda, she had already ordered another glass of whiskey. She lifted it up to her lips and he held her arm steady, pushing it away from her face. "Hey, hey, slow down… What's gotten into you?"

A small chuckle spilled out of her mouth as she switched to her left hand and downed the drink in one fell swoop. Nick clenched his jaw at her insubordination; it was like dealing with a teenager who just discovered mom and dad's secret stash of liquor. He made eye contact with the bartender and made a slitting motion over his neck, then he stared angrily down at her. "You're done."

"Says who?"

"Says your husband," he said, and at that, she laughed hysterically and made a face. Taking her by the shoulders, he ushered her off the stool. "Come on. Let's go."

She shook her shoulders away from his grip and sauntered up the stairs to the clubhouse lobby. He trailed behind her, his hand running through his hair in annoyance. There was a reason why he preferred to be a lone wolf cop during these deep cover operations. Partners could be a huge liability, and Amanda Rollins was proving to be one.

He watched her walk straight for now, but he knew all those glasses of double whiskey were going to catch up to her eventually. She got close to the entrance when she abruptly stopped in her tracks. He met her and stood by her side as he studied her, brows arched in confusion. Pressing her hand against his chest, she balanced on one foot as she started unfastening the strap on her shoe.

"What the hell are you doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doing?" she snapped, digging her nails into his pecs. "These heels are killing me."

He looked down to see the red line above her toes and around her ankles. She switched to the other foot to remove the other shoe, and then a satisfied moan escaped her lips. There was something almost sensual about it. Patting him on the chest, Amanda pulled away and threw him a sly smile over her shoulder. "Now we can go."

Before she could walk away from him, Nick grabbed her by the elbow and pulled her back toward him. He lowered his head and brought his mouth close to her ear. "I don't know what just happened down there, but let me remind you that we're here to work… And you're drunk."

"I _am_ working," she turned to face him, her eyes igniting like a blue flame. "I was getting information until you interrupted me… You're the one hopped up on champagne, mingling about boring shit, and having fun pretending to be some rich asshole. You know, if all you wanted to do was play pretend, you should've just asked your daughter if you could play tea party with her."

He pulled her flush against his chest. His eyes flitting around to check if anyone was close enough to hear them. "Keep your voice down."

She tried to swing for his chest but his fingers were still curled around her arms. "Don't tell me what to do," she hissed.

"Stop making a scene."

Struggling in his hold, Nick finally withdrew, his chest rising and falling with each ragged breath. She scoffed and took a step away from him, her pink lips turning up into a smirk and her eyes glimmering with mischief. "Maybe causing a scene is exactly what we need to be doing."

* * *

The man in the suit was just standing there, tasked to work security and keep an eye on his boss. Over the earpiece, his partner was talking shit about the lack of food and how that probably had something to do with the general irritability of the female guests at the party. For an event titled 'brunch', food seemed to be the last thing on the organizers' agenda.

So far, it had been monotonous – at least, in the grand scheme of how these snooty parties progressed. But that was until a young couple stalked halfway across the lobby. They looked like they had just been in an argument, which was always an interesting development when these social gatherings occurred. People-watching intrigued him personally, but there was also a professional advantage to it. He pulled out his phone from his pocket and held it low as if he was typing a message. Slowly tilting it up in the couple's direction, he began to take a video.

He couldn't get a good look at the woman's face from where he was standing, but judging from the body alone, she had what they were looking for. Slim, long legs with curves in all the right places. His typical preference didn't really align with most of the broads in town – women addicted to their juice cleanses and personal trainers. And while the woman was undoubtedly fit, she still had a full, rounded ass underneath that tight dress. Shoulder-length blonde hair shined against flawless porcelain skin. She would make a perfect addition – just the kind of pretty, young thing that would make his boss happy.

And, _no_ , he didn't swing that way; but the man who was whispering something into the woman's ear would fit the bill, too. He was tall, dark, and handsome – the kind of guy who could make a woman spread her legs and drop her panties with one look. If these two were a package deal, then he stood to gain a sizable bonus in the near future.

A wicked grin crept across his face as he watched the couple physically struggle. _So they must like it rough? Huh?_ That makes it all the more perfect. She pulled away far enough from the man that he caught a glimpse of her face. She was beautiful – angelic in her features but there was a devilish smolder in her eyes. She took another step away from him and smirked before she started walking out in a sexy strut, even without her heels on.

The man ran his hand through his hair before he took off on foot to chase after his woman.

Pressing the red button on the screen, he stopped the recording. He laughed softly to himself as he typed out a message and forwards the video to his boss. "Pay up, motherfucker."


	5. Seaside

**AN:** _Thank you to those who left reviews for chapter four. To the guest reviewer who posed the challenge for me to update twice on the same day, sorry I couldn't get it done. Unfortunately, I don't write as fast as I'd like to. And I have school on weekdays so that doesn't leave me much free time to write. I appreciate the enthusiasm and the excitement though :)_

 _I don't know if anyone cares but I edited all previous chapters and switched this story from third person present to third person past. I just find it's a lot easier to read, and a lot easier for me to write. If you do care about that stuff, let me know what you think._

 _Read, enjoy, and review! Oh, and HAPPY HALLOWEEN!_

* * *

 **Hush**

 **5\. Seaside**

* * *

She stirred from sleep, her mouth dry as cotton and her head crushed by the weight of some invisible force. It was the middle of the night and the full moon was shining a dim light into the darkened space. The comforter was pushed down to her feet, draping off the edge of the bed. The closet doors were wide-open, drawers pulled with shirts and socks hanging out. Her brows knitted in confusion at the scene, conducting all the tension of her migraine to the wrinkled spot between her eyes. Shutting her eyes from everything, Amanda descended back into the silence and darkness.

The muscles in her body felt just about as wobbly as her vision. It was almost as if she couldn't feel her legs if it hadn't been for the pain shooting up from the arches of her feet. Heeled boots were one thing, but walking around in stilettos for five hours warranted an increased pay grade, and perhaps a spa voucher for a foot massage.

Rolling to her side, she slowly opened her eyes to see a glass of water and a bottle of aspirin on the nightstand. She tried to remember taking those items up to the loft with her, but she drew a blank. All she could remember was leaving the party, removing her shoes in the middle of the lobby, and Nick's jaw clenching because he was so damn angry with her. There was something about the way he reacted to her defiance that thrilled the manic girl in her… that roused the Rollins DNA in her.

She ran her fingers through her hair, getting caught in tangles fashioned by a generous shower of hairspray. The last memories of her buzz were hazy. And just like the wasps' golden nest on her scalp, the timeline was just as much of a mess.

She and Nick were in the car with the windows down. The sun was still high in the sky and the breeze was warm against her skin. She hung her head out 'like a dog', as Nick described it. And although he pretended to still be furious with her, it was the one thing that broke through the persistent scowl on his face. Instead, his gaze was fixed on her. His brows creased and his mouth set into a crooked smile, as if he was trying his best to suppress his amusement.

Somewhere along their drive back to the Huxley residence, she stuck more than just her neck out the window. He reached over the center console to attempt to pull her back into the moving vehicle. "Get in here. You're going to hit your head on a goddamn mailbox."

Dust billowed in the air as the car pulled over to the side of the road. He refused to move until she placed her torso back in and strapped on her seatbelt. Being the typical wild and stubborn drunk that she was, she laughed in the face of his instruction. He seized her by the shoulders and used his forearm to thrust her against the seat so he could strap her on himself. "I'm not getting pulled over because of you."

"Just drive faster so they can't catch you." She smirked, cheeks tinted crimson from the amber whiskey surging through her body. "Or is speed just not in your repertoire?"

He didn't seem to enjoy the insinuation that he was a slow driver – no man ever did. It was like a slight to his manhood, and Amanda giggled at the thought that something so simple had irritated him so much. But she quieted down quickly when, without warning, he pulled out of the side of the road and floored it to their destination.

After the mini road trip back to the cabin, the memories were even more of a blur. Amanda vaguely recalled pulling up in the driveway and seeing Paloma's disappointed face. Nick exchanged some words with her in Spanish, the language sounding musical to her ears. Then they looked at each other with those identical knowing smiles, and Paloma said, " _Esta loca._ "

There was a fuzzy image of the cabin coming to sight, her body breaking free from his hold and her bare feet sprinting across the damp blades of grass. Nick was calling after her. She looked over her shoulder to check if he was chasing her, but she tripped over something – a branch, maybe – and fell on her knees. She leaned back against a tree, and by the time he found her, her belly was aching in laughter. He shook his head and helped her up, a crooked yet charming smile begging to emerge through the stony planes of his face. "Warn me next time if you're making a run for it."

"You're gonna have to learn to keep up, honey."

Amanda gently rubbed her temples as she inhaled slow and deep breaths. Her lids fluttered open to take in the night and the oversized white t-shirt skimming over her body. The first thing that registered in her brain was the shirt didn't belong to her. It was soft and thin, like it had been worn in. There was a faint smell of laundry detergent and something else woodsy with a hint of spice… just like Nick's aftershave.

Fuck.

Without delay, the panic washed over her like it was high tide. There was no other reasonable explanation as to why she was in his shirt, why her body was so sore after what she remembered as a typical time at the bar. She had sex. She had drunk, reckless, stupid sex with her undercover partner, who also happened to be the same annoying detective who rummaged through her personal files and challenged her strategy to take down the trafficking ring. And while he was pretending to be her husband, and sleeping with him did make that aspect of their assignment more convincing, there was no one to convince because they were the only two unfortunate souls to witness it. No one in this scenario stood to benefit from drunk, reckless, stupid sex.

That was why she called it stupid in the first place.

Tugging the shirt down by the neck, she peered inside to see her bra had gone missing. "Shit," she muttered to herself. Scratching the side of her neck, she tried to remember the specific moment she took off her bra between coming home and falling asleep. She drew a blank, causing a tremor to crawl up her spine. How could she forget taking off her bra? Did he fumble around with it like most guys before he finally backed down and let her do it herself? Or did he reach around her with one hand and dexterously unclasped it?

Swallowing the lump in her throat, she paced her breaths in preparation for reality. She had to face it sooner or later – face decades of careless and promiscuous choices culminating into six feet of incontrovertible evidence. Slowly, she peeped over her shoulder to check for the man sharing her bed. But, thank the Lord Jesus Almighty, no one was there.

No audible sighs of relief or cries of hallelujah echoed against the walls. However, Amanda still remained confused about the state of the room and the state of her sleeping ensemble.

Holding her head in her hands, she swung her legs over the edge of the bed and bent down to see a trash can by her feet. She reached over for the aspirin and popped three into her mouth, swallowing it down with a glass of lukewarm water. She started piecing the information she had together. Nick did this. There was no way an intoxicated Amanda would have the foresight to leave all these things by her bedside.

The relieved dry mouth reminded her why her body had woken up in the first place; she needed to pee.

She rose from the bed and held onto the banister for support. Her legs shook as she approached the top step. From where she was standing, she could see Nick lying on the couch. He was shirtless, one arm folded over his eyes while the other dangled from the edge, knuckles barely brushing against the rug. Her dilated pupils raked over the expanse of his chest, following the light sprinkling of hair down to his abs. With every breath he took, the muscles relaxed and contracted to reveal the lines on his hips that dipped below the band of his low-slung sweatpants. She didn't even notice the instinctive bite down on her bottom lip until her fogged up brain alerted her discomfort. Her hand clutched onto the center of his shirt, above her sternum, pulling the soft cotton flush over her skin.

Someone needed a cold shower.

* * *

Smoke hung in the air. The crackling and sizzling sound of bacon strips on a hot pan tinged on the morning stillness. Fluffy scrambled eggs perched on slightly burnt toast, momentarily neglected on account of one woman's daydream.

The breakfast was all part of her apology, her 'thank you' for taking care of her when she was making a sloppy fool of herself. After she snuck into the bathroom in the middle of the night to relieve her bladder and splash cold water on her face, she caught up on some extra sleep until the sun emerged from the horizon. She peeled herself off the bed and changed out of his shirt, ridding of the evidence by folding it neatly and stuffing it in the bottom of his drawer.

Breakfast wasn't something she prepared for just about anyone. In fact, she couldn't remember the last time she placed that much effort into impressing a guy who stayed over. The most she did – if she hadn't already kicked said guy out of her apartment – was offer him a bowl of Froot Loops. Not that she was trying to impress Nick by any means; but she did feel like she owed him for putting up with her unprofessionalism.

Nick absently scratched his nose, his body gradually rousing from sleep. Groaning, he stretched as far as he could until his foot bumped against the armrest, not even close to extending his leg. His muscles were sore; his back felt like disjointed Lego blocks. All he craved as he tried to stretch, besides the promise of bacon lingering in the air, was his comfortable bed back home.

He opened his eyes, squinting as the morning light passed through the sheer curtains and beamed right into his eyes. The noises and smells from the kitchen awakened him further from his drowsy state. He lifted his head and perched on an elbow to look at the other end of the room. Amanda was standing behind the kitchen counter, her concentration laser-focused on the stove. One of the first things he noticed was she was no longer wearing his shirt. And there was a surprising pang of disappointment that struck him right underneath his ribcage. Choosing to ignore it, he straightened up from the couch and staggered toward the archway leading into the kitchen.

"Morning."

She nearly jumped out of her skin, the ponytail tied high on her head whipping around as she twisted her upper body. Her gasp quieted quickly, and she planted a nervous smile on her face. "Mornin' to you too."

His eyes studied her new outfit – blue plaid shirt thrown over a white tank, and a pair of denim cut-offs. She looked good, no doubt, but he still wanted to know what prompted the wardrobe change. "You didn't like my shirt?"

She stared, mortification evident in the way her eyes widened and the way her jaw dropped. She probably thought she could have gotten away with pretending it never happened. But he wasn't letting her off the hook; not when it was this much fun seeing her flustered.

She scooped up the rest of the bacon from the pan and set it down on the plate, turning off the heat and wiping her hands on the tea towel. She crossed her arms over her chest and ducked her head. "H – how'd that even happen?" she asked. "Why was I in your shirt?"

He arched a brow. "Seriously? You don't remember?"

"I remember the car ride back, but nothing after that," she admitted, chewing on her lip. "We didn't do – I mean, nothing happened, right?"

"Wait, what?" He jerked his head back and stared at her incredulously. "You think something happened between us? You think you ended up in my shirt because we had se –"

"—No!" she cried. She scratched the side of her neck – a nervous tick she wasn't usually even aware of until her skin was raw under her fingernails. "That's not what I – I didn't mean to say –" She took a deep breath. "Look, I just want to know what happened after we got back from the party."

Nick leaned against the wall and blew out his cheeks. "Nothing happened between us. Let's get that out of the way." He held his hands up. It was important that she knew he didn't take advantage of her in her drunken state. The last thing their partnership needed was Amanda thinking he was just as awful as the scumbags they were paid to put away. She bowed her head – a silent show of gratitude. He shrugged as he continued, "You have nothing to worry about. We arrived back here around four and you, uh… you went straight upstairs. I was here making sandwiches because I thought you could use something to eat to help absorb all the alcohol. Then I went up and you were already in my shirt. My clothes were on the floor and you whined about not being able to find your Braves jersey, which made sense because you were digging through the wrong side of the closet."

She sighed, feeling a sense of relief because the blacked out events of the previous day weren't as embarrassing as she imagined. It was still humbling in the presence of Nick, but it still could've been so much worse.

"You don't remember the sandwiches?" he asked, a trace of disappointment etched into his voice.

"No, I'm telling you. Everything after the car ride is drawing up a blank up here." She points to her head.

"I made two turkey sandwiches on rye for each of us, and you ended up eating yours and half of mine," he said. "You literally snatched it off my hands."

"I did not!"

"Did too," he chuckled, pushing himself off the wall and walking toward her. She visibly clammed up at his closeness but dropped her tense shoulders when he slid past her to reach for a strip of bacon. He bit into it and threw her an impish grin. "So, is this breakfast a peace offering for stealing my sandwich?"

She swatted his hand away from getting more bacon and carried the plates over to the dining table. Casting him a brief glance, she replied with a cheeky grin of her own. "Yeah, something like that."

* * *

It felt strange not coming to work on a Monday. Sometimes, they got called in on weekends and they didn't even bat an eye when that happened. But 'skipping work' on the first day of the week felt like cheating.

Their afternoon consisted of strolling through Main Street and the Oceanside boardwalk, paying visits to local establishments under the pretext of exploring the sights. Prior to their trip through sleepy downtown Southampton, Nick and Amanda had already looked into the financials of many of the local businesses. One common thread that tied quite a few of these businesses together was the fact that their numbers simply did not add up. They suspected that these particular establishments were laundering money for the sex trafficking ring.

There was a seaside gift shop, Nautical Treasures, by the boardwalk that was owned by a man named Stanley Simpson. He had lived in town for over fifty years and everyone seemed to refer to Stan's store as the go-to place for souvenirs. By itself, Nautical Treasures didn't make enough money to turn a profit and secure a restock of merchandise from its vendors. Regardless, it still raked in over 500 grand annually.

What made Stan a more interesting suspect, as opposed to the other local business owners, was his connection to Atlanta. Connecting the dots, Amanda explained that Stan's half-brother, who he supposedly didn't have a relationship with, was the director for the group home from which there was an abrupt departure of teenage girls. However, there were no phone calls, visits, or any sort of correspondence to connect Stan to his half-brother other than the fact that they shared a deceased biological father.

A tiny bell tolled as Amanda pushed the door open, Nick following closely behind. Everything inside Stan's store was cramped, floor to ceiling and corner to corner. No one was standing behind the counter, where a burnished gold cash register was on display; its intricate metalwork coated with a layer of dust.

She picked up a ceramic lighthouse and turned it over to see the initials D.S. painted on the base. Diane Simpson – Stan's mother, a woman suffering from Alzheimer's and currently residing in a nursing home fifteen miles north of Southampton. Like most of the entrepreneurs laundering money in town, Stan was most likely working for the trafficking ring because he felt like he was backed into a corner. Whoever was running the operation knew who desperately needed the money, and they preyed on those vulnerable targets and secured them as collateral – just like the working girls.

Nick came upon a stained glass wind chime hanging off the ceiling, held together by a thin strand of clear nylon. All the items in the shop seemed so delicate that he was scared of moving a muscle or breathing too hard.

"Hello. Can I help you?" A man emerged from the back room. He had a friendly smile that reached the wire frames of his round glasses.

"Yes," Amanda said, taking the decorative lighthouse with her to the register. "Do you have any more like these?"

His dark eyes lit up. "Excellent choice, miss." He hobbled with his cane and led her to a display hidden away behind a shell curtain. As Stan showed her more ceramic ornaments shaped by his mother's hands, Nick moved toward the counter and reached for the accounting ledger tucked in front of the register. He flipped through the pages to see names beside item numbers and descriptions of products sold. He heard the played up Southern accent in Amanda's voice as she gushed about the talent of the artist.

Nick scanned through the list, skimming over the marked down and sporadic purchases. The account numbers suddenly spiked when he spotted a transaction of $10,000. And exactly a week later, on a Thursday, there was another $10,000 purchase. There was no item number or description of the product sold, but there was a name – Wolf.

His ears picked up on the rustling noise of the shell curtains and flipped the book closed. Shoving it back in front of the cash register, he leaped back and pretended to be fascinated by a display of wooden geese.

Amanda set down the three ornaments on the surface and retrieved her wallet from her purse. Nick joined her at the register and picked up a starfish she had chosen, raising a brow as he studied the object. Her elbow covertly nudged him in the gut.

"Is this your husband?" Stan asked as he rung her in, the process taking a fair bit longer than most shopping experiences.

She glanced up at Nick with an adoring smile and leaned into him. He placed an arm around her shoulder and allowed her to curl up against his chest, inhaling the fragrant scent of her floral shampoo. "Yes, Stan, this is Nick," she introduced both men and they proceeded to exchange a firm handshake.

"Your wife was just telling me you're in town for the summer, staying with the Huxleys," Stan started. He used one finger at a time to press the ticking keys of the machine. "I often get Grace's guests passing through my shop in search of a souvenir. They always ask me what there is to do 'round here, and I always tell 'em there's more to Southampton than their fancy parties."

"Really?" Nick asked with an amused chuckle. "So, what do you tell them?"

"It's all about the community, kid. Everyone here – at least in the old part of town – it's like family. If you're looking for the best cup'a coffee, or if you're trying to find the freshest catch of Atlantic cod at the market, then we'll help you out and tell you where to go," Stan said. "You know, you two should come to our meeting at the firehouse tonight."

They exchanged a look of confusion, shrugging their shoulders before turning back to the shop owner. He was too busy with the open ledger, listing down the three items he had now wrapped in paper and stored into the nondescript paper bag.

"I think you'll enjoy it," he told them. "If anything, people always bring food. And you gotta try Mrs. Abernathy's apple pie. It's a life-changing experience."

"We'll think about it," Amanda said. She smiled at the extremely welcoming man, who reminded her a lot of the people back home in Loganville. There was something about Stan that was so naturally kind and inviting that it upset her to have knowledge of his involvement in a criminal enterprise. She pulled on Nick's forearm as she practically dragged him out the door.

"Hope to see you two later." He waved.

And as they pushed open the door to Nautical Treasures and stepped out to the sunshine, again, the tiny bell tolled.

* * *

The shutter clicked and snapped pictures as they left a gift shop located on the boardwalk. He pushed a branch aside and positioned the lens through the bush so he could zoom in without obstruction. Ever since he sent the video of the couple to his boss, he was sent on a reconnaissance mission to see if they were indeed worthy.

Thanks to his sources, he discovered their names, current address, and the plate number of their car. Both of them had the background and the breeding they were looking for, but he needed more than just two offspring of prominent families to score them an invite. And he really didn't care about whether or not those two ended up enjoying the parties; he was just there to recruit and make his commission.

His boss wanted to know if Nick and Amanda had heat – if their chemistry went beyond the fight they had at the Southampton Clubhouse. So often, they had new couples at the sex parties, who were excited by the prospect of something new and exciting, but were actually terrified and boring prudes when it came down to it.

He shifted the lens and aimed it in their direction; they were standing by the railing overlooking the water. She had added another shopping bag to her collection, proving she was just another vapid shopaholic like most of the princesses he encountered in the job.

They talked close together, their sunglasses shielding their eyes so it was difficult to get a read on the mood of their conversation. They just stood there inches apart, never touching. Sure, they were in a public place so he never expected a full-blown make-out session to be captured on video and taken back to appease his boss. But it was almost frigid and slightly awkward the way they interacted with each other.

His phone vibrated in his pocket and he picked it up to see his boss' name on the screen. "Yeah?"

"How's the stakeout going?"

"Not well, boss," he admitted. "I'm getting nothing."

There was a pause on the other line before he said, "You mentioned they're staying at the Huxleys' guesthouse… Take the boat out tonight and see if you can take pictures from there. If it's still a bust, then this isn't worth pursuing."

He sighed as he took another picture of the couple doing absolutely nothing of interest.

"I got yuppies and models from Manhattan coming up this weekend, looking for a good time. I want them to be the priority before you start scoping out other clients."

"Yeah, boss," he said, hearing a click before the call ended.

Looking through the viewfinder, he watched as Nick winked at her and started walking away. She stood there dumbfounded, her face burning into deeper shades of red. _Well, that's a start_ , he thought to himself. There was no doubt Nick and Amanda had chemistry; it was all a matter of whether they did something about it.

And tonight, he was going to find out.

* * *

"I just think going to this town meeting is a waste of time," Amanda sighed, leaning her back against the railing.

Nick stared out at the sailboats in the distance. "You heard him. A lot of people are going to be there, including local entrepreneurs. Chances are we're going to meet someone who can get us that much closer to finding out who's running it."

"Not from these people," she said. "They're so low on the totem pole they probably don't even know who they're working for. It's obvious these people are only working for them because they're behind on their debts."

"I'm not arguing that, Amanda," he said. "All I'm saying is that it wouldn't hurt to stop by at the firehouse tonight. It's not like we have other plans."

She shrugged. Above her head, the afternoon sun was beating down on her bare arms, the rosy hue of her skin becoming more noticeable. Nick was right. _They_ didn't have other plans, but _she_ did. She was thinking of taking that drive up to the Tuckahoe Woods Preserve to search for the house. All she had was a twenty mile radius based off the unreliable coordinates of Kim's last recorded phone call. Amanda still had to figure out a way to explain her absence to her partner without having to reveal she was out looking for her sister. The second he knew she had a personal connection to this case, the NYPD was going to pull the plug on the operation.

"I don't think you should be discrediting their involvement in this," he started. "For what it's worth, there's a lot of silence in this community for activity that should have been reported. Instead, they're acting like everything's perfect around here and everyone's family… Maybe they have legitimate reasons for making money this way, but they're being just as shady as the people we met at brunch."

"They're not paying to be serviced by minors though."

"I know that," he said, holding a hand up to calm her down. "But think about it… Other than using these businesses for money laundering, the trafficking ring needs labor and security to get their parties off the ground. Where else would they find that kind of manpower?"

"Yeah, ok, I get it," she said. "All I'm saying is we shouldn't be so wrapped up on finding evidence to implicate Stan and the other townies –"

"—And I agree with you," he interrupted with a sigh. He hoped the soft smile on his face would be enough of a truce for her to let this go and quit arguing with him for no reason. She was a steadfast and determined detective, but sometimes she needed to take a step back and approach the problem from a broader perspective.

"Fine," she acquiesced, lowering her head. "We'll go to the meeting."

"Great." He grinned and stretched his arms against the barricade to get a better look at her. Her eyes followed the taut muscles under the short-sleeved shirt up to his warm, brown eyes. There was a cockiness about him that made her want to slap the smirk right off his face, but there were also moments when she found that same quality to be inexplicably attractive. "So, a friendly local may have told me there are a couple of bars down the end of the boardwalk." His brows wiggled mischievously, teasing her as she frowned at the memory of her hangover. "I was wondering if you wanted to make a habit out of day drinking and split a pitcher with me."

"Not that I'm trying to live up to your expectations, but yeah, beer would be nice," she said. "Any excuse to get inside a place with AC."

"Fine," he groaned, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. "If that's your excuse this time."

"You know, I wasn't that bad yesterday."

"That's what you think," he said, winking at her before walking away.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

* * *

 **24 hours ago**

One second she was running toward the cabin and the next, she had disappeared over the edge of the escarpment.

"Amanda!" He ran toward her with her heels still in his hands. He found her leaning against a tree; she was hysterical. Crouching down beside her, he looked at the dirt covering her knees. He wrapped his arm around her waist and threw one of her languid limbs over his shoulder as he ushered her to the cabin.

It didn't take long after they were finally inside when she twirled out of his arms.

She groaned, pulling on her dress. "This thing is so fucking tight!" Tugging on the side zipper, she snagged her skin and yelled another epithet. Meanwhile, Nick was in the kitchen, soaking up a dishtowel in hopes that she would stay still long enough so he could wipe the mud from her legs. He rounded the corner and stopped in his tracks just in time to see Amanda strip and attempt to pull the dress over her head. Practically naked, she stood in the middle of the living room in nothing but a matching pair of white lingerie. She managed to get it past her shoulders, but the zipper was caught in her hair; and in her drunken state, she kept pulling.

Setting the towel down, he approached her and placed his hands on her arms to stop her from struggling with the dress. At the feel of his palms on her skin, her body ceased its movements and her stomach inhaled sharply.

"What are you doing?" her muffled voice asked from underneath the fabric.

"I'm trying to help you get out of this," he said, then shook his head at how that must have sounded. "I mean, so you don't hurt yourself. I'm not trying to get you out of this dress for me… Jesus… Fuck… You know what I'm trying to say."

"Are you looking at me right now?"

"No." And he pictured the bolt of lighting smiting him from the heavens. One word, two letters – and it was a complete and utter load of bullshit served up on a plate of lies.

He found the zipper snagged on the hair above the nape of her neck, and gently pulled it down to free the knotted mess, before pulling it back up to give her more room to pass over her head. She swiftly took it off, the dress falling to the floor. They stood face to face and she lowered her head, a sly smile lifting at the corner of her lips.

"Thanks, Nick," she whispered. Turning on her heel, she skipped up the stairs. He considered coming after her with the towel, but he figured she might have been up there changing. And the last thing he needed was to be seeing his partner in even further states of undress. He headed for the kitchen and started, instead, on their sandwiches. He made two – one for each of them – because the promised brunch failed to live up to its promise.

He went upstairs with his tray of hangover cures, and with each step, listened to her slurred grumbles about how she couldn't seem to find her favorite shirt. When he reached the top step, she was rifling through his drawers. One of his formerly clean shirts was by the foot of the bed; it was now stained with the mud from her legs.

Normally, he would have been upset that some woman he barely knew used his clean clothes as a rag. But he couldn't remember the last time he found entertainment from watching someone totally shitfaced. He chuckled as he set the tray down on the nightstand, and settled himself on the edge of the bed. He smelled her in the sheets, his senses filling up with the scent of her floral shampoo mixed with an undertone of heady sandalwood and vanilla.

Finally, she gave up and slipped one of his white undershirts. She turned around to find him with an impish grin on his face. "Brought you food."

"How'd you know?" She leaped onto the bed, bouncing as she reached over his lap for the sandwich. She took a bite, closed her eyes, and groaned shamelessly. "I'm fucking starving."

"Thought so," Nick said, taking a bit of his own sandwich.

Mid-chew, she set her sandwich down on her lap and stuck her arms into the sleeves of the shirt.

"What are you doing?" Nick asked, trying to avert his eyes but actually trying to peek from his periphery. He watched as she expertly unclasped her bra and pulled it out from under the t-shirt.

He stared at her, his mouth hanging open as she groaned in relief. She cried out, "My boobs are finally free."

 _Not free enough_ , he thought to himself. Mentally chastising himself for his lewd thoughts, he was too distracted to notice she swiped half of his sandwich from his hands. She gave him a proud smirk before she took a large bite.

He shook his head with a smile and got off the bed, passing by his dirty shirt and picking it up of the floor. For a moment, he watched as she happily munched away on her food like it was the most blissful experience of her life. There was an innocence about the scene that juxtaposed the completely wild concept that she was practically naked under his shirt.

He cleared his throat. "I'm just downstairs if you need me," he said, positioning a trash can by the bed, just in case her stomach contents decided to reappear.

She cast him a smile that reached her eyes. "You're not so bad, Nick Amaro."

"Is that the truth or is that the alcohol talking?"

"I don't know," she said. "I guess we'll find out in the morning if I make you breakfast."


	6. Homegrown

**AN:** _Hey! I always start these off thanking the people who review, because you are the ones giving me the motivation to keep updating. So, THANK YOU!_

 _I'm sorry to those waiting for the M-rated goodness. We're getting warmer though, I promise. If you've read any of my ff before, patience is a virtue when it comes to my snail-paced story developments. Anyway, onto the important stuff... Please read, enjoy, and review!_

* * *

 **Hush**

 **6\. Homegrown**

* * *

"If you don't get rid of those chickens, I'm throwing them into my deep fryer."

A woman got on her feet, her round eyes darting around the listless crowd. "Did you all hear that?" she cried. "Sherriff, aren't you going to do something about it? He threatened my chickens!"

Most of the horde turned to a man dressed in a tan police uniform, his arm hanging over the backrest of a voluptuous redhead's chair. "Sorry, Alice. You'll have to take this up with Animal Control."

"Animal Control?" she yelled in outrage. If she hadn't been in the presence of her pastor, she might have swung her reusable hemp tote bag at the nearest body. "No, I want you to defend their rights to freely roam my garden."

"You're out of your mind!" The man rose from his seat and pointed a finger at Alice. For the last ten minutes, he was granted the floor to complain about the noise and the smell of his neighbor's domestic fowls. "Those birds have no rights. And, frankly, your rights should be taken away for bringing those pests into our neighborhood."

"It's not against the law to raise chickens in my backyard," she argued – and she was right. According to the city's Health Code, in Article 161 concerning environmental sanitation and animals, a Suffolk County resident was well within their rights to have a chicken coop in their property. "So what if they wake you up? Go buy yourself some earplugs."

"She's right, Joseph," said a doppelganger for Santa Claus. "The county has bylaws that allow chickens – not roosters – in our yards. I'm sorry, but there's nothing we can do."

The garage doors were rolled open, letting in the summer night's breeze. People sat on stackable chairs, facing a makeshift podium commandeered by a man with an uncanny resemblance to Saint Nick (the more popular one). He spoke in a low baritone that echoed through the wide, open space of the antiquated firehouse.

"Well, this has been productive so far," Amanda leaned over and whispered into Nick's ear. He was starting to recognize that sarcasm was deeply ingrained in her daily language; and he shouldn't take it too personally when she was being smart with him. To be fair, she had a point. So far, the town meeting had been nothing but residents airing their silly grievances.

Although, Nick had to admit, there was something quite charming about the frivolity of their problems. Whether they concerned poultry rights or the townies' desecration of their beaches with their offensive (lack of) swimwear, he was fairly entertained.

Amanda was reluctant to attend the town meeting from the beginning. He practically had to drag her out of the dingy dive bar frequented by the blue-collar workers who slaved away at the docks. Sensing her impatience from the tired look on her face and the incessant glances at her wristwatch, he whispered in her ear, "Just wait until after the meeting," he started. "Maybe we'll get a better chance to gauge the crowd."

"These two with the chickens – no way they're involved in criminal activity," she said. Subtly gesturing her head toward a dowdy older woman dressed in a floral smock, she continued, "Lady who wants traffic cams and stop signs installed in every street corner – not a chance. Oh, and that guy who wants the library to lower their overdue fees – he could never hurt a fly. Just look at him. A fly would land on him and he'd tip over."

Nick tried to restrain the laugh, lowering his head and running his hand over his mouth. "Guy who hates chickens threatened to deep-fry them. Who's to say he wouldn't drop an enemy into a vat of hot oil?" He spotted the microscopic upward turn of her lips and a sense of pride flowed through his veins. As much as she tried to hate the town meeting and the fact that this was his idea, she couldn't deny that his company made it all a little more bearable. Nick angled his torso toward hers and continued, "Stop sign lady wants those cameras installed because she wants to be Big Brother and trample on your civil liberties. And the scrawny guy whining about 20-cent overdue fees – he looks like a regular at the local sex club."

"Gross." She smacked his knee.

He feigned discomfort as he rubbed the phantom pain on his knee, the expression on his face contorting into a grimace. He leaned in, checking around to see if anyone else was listening. "Amanda, you can't rule anyone out."

* * *

Mrs. Abernathy's famous apple pie called out to him from the banquet spread. Stan had already hyped it up by calling it a life changing experience; then, upon arriving at the firehouse, he had heard two more people praising the pie like it was manna from heaven. Grabbing a paper plate, Nick headed in for the kill only to be foiled by a queue of women standing in his way.

"Well, you know how summer brings all the whores back to town."

He arched a brow as he listened to the three women gossip, oblivious that he was standing behind them only a few feet away. The blonde, who wore paint-splattered overalls and two pigtail braids in her hair, spoke up, "Some of those girls are here all year round though."

"Oh, Louise, I know one of the girls you're talking about," said a petite brunette. She placed a hand over her heart, lips pouting in affected sympathy. "I understand her daughter is sick, but that's not an excuse to sell her body so she can pay for the treatment."

Alarm bells resonated in his head. He slid a little closer along the length of the table so he could hear them better; their volume occasionally dipping lower in an attempt to keep the matters of their conversation a secret. Hovering over a tuna noodle casserole, he kept his eyes down and his ears open.

"If she had just gotten a normal job like the rest of us, maybe she would have qualified for health insurance. Surely, that would've covered the cost of her child's medicine."

"She wouldn't even be in this mess if she had just married the man who knocked her up," said the third friend – a tall, slim woman with cropped hair and delicate pearls adorning her ears.

"Rosie, how could she?" asked Louise. "He was having an affair."

Rosie sneered and crossed her arms over her chest. "Teaches that slut not to sleep with married men."

"Hey, sometimes it works out," challenged the brunette, tilting her head to the direction of the town sheriff. He was standing in a circle of fellow cops and firefighters, laughing and exchanging stories. "Look at Ben. He left his first wife to shack it up with his mistress. And she's been pregnant four times in the six years they've been married."

"She got lucky," Rosie said in an offhand manner. "Besides, Ben was doing the right thing. His first wife wouldn't give him children so he left her."

"Would you like a slice of pie, sweetheart?" Nick was drawn out of eavesdropping by a nurturing voice that belonged to a woman in her late seventies. The crows' feet by her eyes crinkled as she smiled, whilst holding up a knife.

"Yes please," Nick answered with a nervous smile, holding out his plate as she laid down a slice; sweet, gooey, cinnamon syrup dripping down warm diced apples. "Uh, thank you, ma'am."

He glanced sideways to see the gossip girls had stopped talking and, instead, turned their attention on him. "You're new hear," one of them pointed out. "I've never seen you before. I'm Hannah Wilson."

"Nick Santiago," he said as he accepted her extended hand. "Yeah, my wife and I – we're guests of the Huxleys." They all nodded, aware of the fact that Grace Huxley always had people over. It explained for the older woman's cheerfulness whenever she was shopping for more than two at the local market. "We actually met Stan at his gift shop earlier today, and he invited us to come check out your town meeting. It was… interesting."

"Oh, you can tell us the truth. We can handle it." Louise smiled sweetly, dimples creasing in her freckled cheeks.

"I'm sorry if you overheard that conversation," Hannah began to apologize. "It's quite rude to be talking about other people behind their backs."

"You know, it's fine. Really."

Rosie eyed him carefully. "Do you and your wife have children?"

"No," Nick answered, which he followed by clearing his throat. It felt very much like an inquisition standing under the probing gaze of three pairs of unblinking eyes. They reminded him a lot of the ladies he met at brunch that past Sunday; only the women at the firehouse were dressed more modestly, both in cost and cover. "No kids yet. But it's a definite possibility down the line."

"Well then, now's the best time to cut loose before you're tied down with kids. It just gets so much more complicate when they're involved." Rosie batted her eyes as she made a pass at the man who had just announced his relationship status.

"I don't think I understand –"

"—Everything all right with your marriage?" asked Hannah.

"Yes… Everything's fine," he replied, looking over his shoulder in search of Amanda. She was not where she said she was going to be, which, in Nick's estimation, wasn't at all unexpected but it was still annoying. "Would you excuse me, ladies? I have to go check on my wife."

* * *

"You have to stand thirty feet away from the building if you want to smoke."

Amanda flicked the ashes of her cigarette to the ground. She turned to see a man dressed in half of a firefighter's uniform, his navy shirt clinging to his broad chest, the sleeves straining against the thick muscles of his biceps. As he approached from the shadows, the streetlamp above their heads revealed the bones of his handsome face.

"I can move," she said with an aloofness that implied no urgency.

"No need," he replied as he reached into his back pocket to retrieve a cigarette. "Got a light?" She held her lighter close to the end of the stick. He pulled away and inhaled deep, before releasing a plume of smoke into the night air.

"A fireman with a smoking habit." Amanda shied away and smiled; the irony wasn't lost on her.

"Could be worse," he started, throwing her a sheepish grin. "At least I ain't a pyromaniac like my granddad."

Her brow arched as she studied the dead-serious expression on his face.

"He used to run this place," he said, gesturing to the old firehouse with his lit cigarette. "One day he got bored since there was nothing to do 'round here so he started torching houses. Made himself out to be the hero when he saved lives. Even got himself a nice shadow box memorial inside the station."

She stared at him with wide eyes. She couldn't believe that an arsonist had gotten away with being honored as a town hero. He caught the look on her face and started laughing; deep rumbles from his belly escaped like breathless gasps for air. "I was kidding."

"Oh."

"Carter Baines. And you are?"

"Amanda Marsden." She shook his hand, feeling calloused skin brush and linger against her palm. He didn't let go right away; his slate eyes penetrating her to the point she almost felt violated. She broke contact as she turned her head toward the old brick and mortar structure. "I'm assuming you work here."

"Nah, I just wear the fireproof pants and suspenders for fun," Carter joked, an impish grin plastered against the five o'clock shadow on his face. "I'm just pulling your leg, darlin'. Yeah, I work here. Third generation."

"So your granddad _did_ work here," she said. "Family dinners must be pretty fun then."

"You could say that," he began. "My family's Irish, too, so when there's drinking involved – which, let's be honest, happens all the time – we get into shouting matches, fights, you name it. S'all in good fun though." She kept the tight smile on her face as Carter recounted one incident when the patriarchs of the Baines family placed bets on the Superbowl three years ago. It ended with his sister-in-law in the emergency room for a broken nose, because she got caught in the middle of a scuffle.

"So, Amanda, you new in town?"

"No. Not really." She watched as the embers of her waning cigarette floated and settled on the pavement. "I'm only here for the summer."

"Ah, a townie." He rubbed his hand across the stubble on his cheek, exhaling a puff of smoke that mirrored hers. "Hey, if you need someone to show you around or if you're feeling a little homesick, come hit me up."

"Thanks, but I think I can find my way around here just fine."

"Aw, come on, darlin'." The heave of his chest and the flex of his muscles only worsened the sleazy grin on his face. Initially, she thought he was cute in a meathead sort of way. But she was quickly growing tired of the terms of endearment and the way his eyes probed her body like she was standing there purely for his enjoyment. She would have never blamed a woman for what she wore when she was assaulted; but in that particular moment, she almost wished she hadn't left the house in a pair of denim cut-offs.

Carter reached out to sweep stubby fingers against her bare arm. "How about we go out tonight. Just a few drinks between two new friends."

"You know, I think I'm going to go look for my husband."

He pulled his hand back and stared at her in shock. "You're married?"

"Yeah. The ring on my finger didn't give that away?" She raised her left hand to show the thin silver band and, above it, a princess-cut diamond engagement ring. The first few days she had worn it, it felt strange having the thin strips of metal wrapping around that particular finger. But, strangely enough, she had gotten so used to it that she often forgot they were even there.

Carter whistled. "Sexy and sassy. I like it."

"It was nice meeting you, Carter." The coldness in her tone was in stark contrast to the literal meaning of her words. She dropped the remains of her cigarette stub to the ground before killing the fire with the sole of her shoe.

"Wait, baby, don't leave. We just got talking." She tried to shove past him and he attempted to grasp her arm to stop her, but another body had gotten in the way.

"Hey, babe," Nick said, draping his arm around Amanda's squared shoulders. She looked up just in time to accept the chaste kiss he pressed on her lips. Time stopped, when in reality, the kiss didn't even last a full second. And not because it was romantic or arousing, but simply because it caught her off guard. He pulled away slightly, his casual and protective embrace around her shoulders not wavering in the midst of their present company. "I've been looking all over for you. Everything all right?"

"Yeah…" she trailed off breathlessly. Swallowing hard, she cast a wary look at Carter, who had replaced his trademark sleazy grin with a disgruntled scowl. "I was actually just leaving to look for you."

Nick smiled softly down at Amanda, his warm eyes glittering with the comfort she didn't know she needed until he arrived. He turned to Carter and introduced himself. "Nick Santiago, Amanda's husband. Pleasure to meet you."

"Carter Baines." The men exchanged a firm handshake. "Pleasure's all mine, man. Anyway, I was just inviting your wife out for a drink. Of course, you're welcome to come along."

"Thanks for the invitation, but I think we're gonna call it a night," Nick said as he lowered his head to level with her gaze. "What do you say, babe?"

She faked a yawn. "Yeah, I'm sleepy."

"Bed sounds good right about now, doesn't it?"

"Mhmmm…" She burrowed her nose into the crook of his neck, inhaling that warm and spicy scent of his cologne, and ignoring whatever reaction her current position might have incited out of Carter.

"Night," Nick said as he steered Amanda back into the building. "We'll see you around," he added, although it was clear by the smug smirk on his face that he was rather insincere about that promise.

As they reached the back door to the firehouse, Carter called out, "Offer still stands for that drink. You know where to find me."

* * *

"On your way out already?" They glanced over their shoulders to see the sheriff catch up to them. He had a relaxed gait that matched his welcoming smile. "Nick and Amanda, right?" he asked and they nodded in response. "I'm Sheriff Ben Finch. Welcome to Southampton."

"Nice to meet you, sir," Amanda drawled as she shook the man's open hand.

He lifted his beer bottle and pointed the lip toward her, his brows knitting together in contemplation. "Oh, I know that accent. You from Georgia, sweetheart?"

"Uh, South Carolina, actually."

"Ha! Close enough." He laughed. "I was born and raised in Georgia, believe it or not. I moved up here when I married my first wife, and ended up staying," he shared, proving her theory that the people in this part of town were notorious oversharers as opposed to the more secretive country club lot a few miles down the road. Ben leaned in close and faked a whisper, "Don't tell the folks here, but Georgia will always be home to me."

Amanda smiled warmly, her fingers intertwining at her front. "Promise I won't tell."

"If y'all need anything or run into any problems while you're up here, give me a call." The expression on his face was cold sober as he handed a business card to Nick. No logo of the Suffolk County PD or an extension from the main police line; just his name and personal number printed in black ink. "The town police want you to have a good, safe time while you're here."

"Thank you," Nick replied, slipping the card into his wallet.

"Have a safe drive back to Cooper's beach," Ben said with a wave of his hand. "And watch out for the deer."

Nick and Amanda left the firehouse shortly after the run-in with the sheriff. It raised some red flags when, after correctly identifying Amanda's southern accent, Sheriff Ben Finch disclosed he was a native of Georgia. This gave them a lead to further investigate into his past. Perhaps, Stan was only one part of a longer equation to explain the trafficking ring's connection with the southern state.

They were less than ten feet away from the car when Amanda grabbed his arm and pulled him back. He was about to speak up and protest the abrupt manhandling when she pressed a finger to her lips. "Shhh…" Crouching behind a parked sedan, she pointed to the street corner. "Is that Stan?"

Nick squinted as he tried to focus on the three figures standing in front of the shuttered bakery. The black man in the checkered polo was, indeed, Stan; but he failed to recognize the other two towering men in black suits.

"Who are those guys? Have we seen them before?"

"No," he answered, ducking his head when one of the men briefly surveyed the seemingly empty street. He, then, pulled out an envelope from his jacket and handed it to Stan, who hastily slipped it into his back pocket. Amanda licked her lips as she watched the exchange happen before her eyes. It could've been that week's payment, but the envelope looked too flat to contain ten grand. It was likely something else.

"They look like Secret Service or something," she observed out loud.

He stifled a laugh, turning to her with an incredulous look. "You think the President of the United States is involved in this?"

"Shut up." She glared, slapping his arm with the back of her hand. Like a flash, she dropped close to the ground and grabbed his hand, pulling him toward the other side of the car. "They're headed here," she said, her voice coming out in a breathless rasp. Waiting for the men to depart, the faux couple breathed a collective sigh of relief when their marks were finally out of sight.

* * *

Inside the cozy confines of the seaside cabin, she drew the curtains closed and pulled out the box of case files. Studying the profiles of the men and women they suspected were involved, none of them jumped off the page as the working girl and mother of a sick child. She expected it, because she pretty much had these files memorized front to back. So it turned out the information Nick gathered from his eavesdropping session was news to her; maybe he wasn't as useless as she had initially (and unfairly) surmised.

What stood out to her was the remark about the daughter being the product of an affair. If people knew it was an affair that led to the birth of that child, then the man responsible must have been either a resident of Southampton or a townie who came to visit in the summers. She wondered if the father knew what his former mistress resorted to doing in order to sustain their child's life.

Nick returned from outside, a towel slung around over his shoulders and sweat triangulating just below his neckline. After arriving home, he said something about hitting the gym in the Huxleys' basement. Grace told him he was welcome to use it anytime, considering her husband spent an arm and a leg on equipment he only ever used the weeks after he drafted his New Year's resolutions.

"Find anything?" he asked and she shook her head in response.

He started for the kitchen to refill his bottle of water. Amanda rose from the desk and followed him. "Hey, Nick," she called. He was drinking, and staring outside the window above the sink at a faint, flickering light amidst the darkness. It must've been someone's boat. He turned around and cocked an eyebrow, his lips still firmly pressed against the opening of the bottle. "I never got the chance to say it earlier, but thank you for cutting in when Carter was – you know…."

"Yeah, I'm sorry if I got carried away with the improvisation." He lowered his head, his already colored cheeks intensifying into a deeper shade of red. "I should've warned you I was gonna do that, or we should've discussed it first."

"Wouldn't have worked as effectively though," she said with a reassuring smile, trying to hide the fact that she wasn't taking it as coolly as she appeared. She didn't mind Nick kissing her to get Carter to back off; in fact, she was appreciative. What stunned her was Nick's apology for not asking for her permission first. It was such a small thing concerning a close-mouthed kiss on the lips; regardless, it was one small thing she thought she would never have heard from a man. It was just something she wasn't used to where she was from. And maybe it had something to do with Nick working SVU, but her intuition told her that this was just who he was even before he was hired into the unit. Amanda sighed and leaned against the counter, watching him gulp the last drops to sate his thirst. "It's the nature of the job," she began. "It was bound to happen sooner or later. And I'm kind of relieved we got it over with."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Now, it doesn't have to be weird."

He set the glass down on the sink. Turning around to face her, he bit down on his bottom lip as he tried to suppress a grin. "It could still get weird, especially if we end up invited to that party of perverts and sickos."

"For sure, you'll get invited with that positive attitude," she quipped as she laughed with him.

After a few seconds of silence, Nick sighed. "Are you nervous?"

"I am," she admitted. Of course, she was nervous. She had read about sex parties long before the case was even presented to her, and long before Kim went missing. Most of the ones reported about – the ones that seemed to skirt the line of legality – espoused the importance of safety and consent. Still, being in that environment and being part of a culture that encouraged voyeurism and polyamory made her feel uneasy. Amanda from years back would have probably been nervous about it, but she wouldn't have been as inwardly distressed. She knew this particular aspect of their assignment was potentially triggering. But Nick didn't need to know that. He needed to see her determination so he wouldn't talk her out of it or stand in her way. "I am nervous," she began, "but if it gets us one step closer to solving this case, then I'm going to do it."

"Not alone," he said as he stood in his resolve, his hands planted on his hips. "I'm coming with you."

"You'd do it?" she asked, a mixture of surprise and skepticism threaded through the thickness of her voice. Clearing her throat, she fixed her eyes on his. "You're not gonna chicken out on me?"

Nick laughed as he pushed himself off the edge of the counter and approached her. The heat and natural musk of his body intoxicated her senses, and she felt that whirling feeling deep within her belly. "Can we not bring up chickens, please?" he asked with a shake of his head.

Amanda raised her hand like a girl scout and promised.

"But yeah. I'm your partner. And you're right. The parties are the only way I can see us finding those girls," he started. "Besides, as far as I know, you don't have to participate in these sex parties if they're anything like the ones I've read about. Some people just drink and watch and hang out… Maybe I'll get lucky."

She chuckled. "That sounds like the opposite of getting lucky."

He cocked his head to the side and contorted his face into an exaggerated frown. "You know what I mean." He walked past her, wiping the towel on his brow. The warmth of his presence suddenly leaving her cold and alone in the kitchen.

She followed him upstairs, where he was pulling out clothes from the closet. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, she patted the duvet with one hand while the other tucked her hair behind her ear. "Uh, Nick?"

"Yeah?" He didn't turn around, sandwiching a pair of boxer briefs between black basketball shorts and a maroon t-shirt.

"You should come sleep on the bed." She gulped after she said it, partly because it had come out of her like a speeding bullet but also because she was terrified of him saying 'no'. "You've been complaining about your back… And there are tons of windows in this place… I mean, we don't know who could be watching."

He slowly faced her and furrowed his brows. She inwardly cringed as she awaited the looming embarrassment of being rejected by a guy she didn't even want to sleep with. Just a guy she felt sorry for because he was stuck sleeping on a couch too small for him. That was it, she tried to convince herself.

"Are you sure?" he asked.

"Yeah," she nodded once. "Besides, we've already kissed. So what's the big deal with sharing a bed?"

"That was hardly a kiss; but point taken."

"What do you mean that was hardly a kiss?" She hunched forward, staring at him in disbelief.

He laughed as he closed the closet door with his foot. He approached her, looking down at her seated on the edge of the bed. Her eyes were level with his waist, his white tank clinging to the bumps and curves of his chiseled stomach.

"That's like the same kind of kiss my _abuelita_ used to give me up until I was eleven."

"Oh, I see." Amanda drew her legs on top of the bed and crossed them over each other. "So how would you define a real kiss then?"

"Open mouths, a little tongue action, maybe some heavy petting," he began, a smirk curling up on his lips. He started walking toward the stairs with his change of clothes in hand. As he reached the first step down, he looked over his shoulder and caught her eyes. "Who knows? Maybe you'll get lucky one of these days."

She smiled. "You wish."

* * *

It was the soothing sound of waves crashing against the rocks that gently roused her from slumber. Outside, the sun was just peeking through the horizon, soft purples and oranges smeared across the sky like watercolors. She hadn't slept so well in so long that she had very little desire to stay in bed and curl up under the covers. She felt ready to take on the day, ready to grab it by the horns. And for the first time since getting on that plane to New York, she felt like it was the perfect morning for a run.

Stirring into a more alert state of wakefulness, she instantly realized getting off the bed would be a problem when there was an arm draped around her waist.

She remembered the previous night when she told Nick he could sleep on the same bed. He had returned from his shower smelling like a mix of clean soap and the salt breeze. He had chosen to opt into wearing a t-shirt to bed this time, which she didn't ask for, but he must have assumed that's what she wanted. They awkwardly said their 'good nights' as they turned off the lamps adjacent to their sides of the bed – Nick being closer to the stairs and Amanda facing the French doors to the balcony.

They were on opposite sides with a good amount of distance between them. It was true; some people had a tendency to move around in their sleep. She just never thought, in a million years, it would be her undercover partner sleeping next to her. Waking up that morning, Amanda was still curled up on her side, facing out to the view of the Atlantic. But Nick was on his stomach, his legs kicked off the covers down to his ankles, and his arms outstretched like a starfish. His head was turned to her, his mouth agape as soft snores drifted past his lips.

Carefully turning on the other side to face him, she traced the hard planes of his face with her eyes before she closed them. Foregoing the early morning run for another day, Amanda settled into the warmth of Nick's embrace and drifted back to sleep.


	7. Paparazzi

**AN:** _Thank you to everyone who left reviews for chapter six. Special thanks to Alex Beckett, who writes **Everything Changes** (go check it out!), for starting this story and enjoying it. *heart eyes emoji* Also, another special shout-out to TangledUpLies for one of the sweetest PMs I've ever received. *heart eyes emoji* You guys (including the reviewers who mentioned it) are awesome for picking up on the tension between Nick and Amanda - that's, like, the very foundation of this ship and so I plan to milk it for all it's worth. But I promise I won't drag it out for 100 chapters. _

_I did promise M-rated goodness and you'll find a bit of that here, but I wouldn't call it 'goodness' and it's probably not what you're expecting. I just thought the last few chapters have been too light-hearted, so I pulled this story back into a dark and twisty place. Just a little reminder that this isn't going to be all cute and fluffy rollaro. So, uh, TW for themes of rape and child molestation. Read, enjoy (some parts), and review._

* * *

 **Hush**

 **7\. Paparazzi**

* * *

She slammed on the gas until the dial hit ninety; the dust on the road parting for her like the Red Sea. The miles of farmland she passed were dormant, straw-colored stalks yielding upon the gentle breeze. Inside the car, her square frames shielded her eyes from the blinding rays of the mid-morning sun.

Waking up just as daybreak peeked from the stretch of sea, Amanda slipped out of the covers and the comfort of her bedmate's strong arms. She dressed quietly and tiptoed downstairs. She thrust the key into the ignition and drove up north to the Tuckahoe Woods Preserve. Armed with a mental map of the twenty-mile radius of where her sister could be, she started her search at the town closest to the center. She drove up the freeway until she pulled toward a right exit at a rural community. Houses and barns were spaced far apart; long stretches of road disappearing in dirt clouds over the edge of the horizon.

The information she had gathered revealed that Kim likely made a phone call from a local payphone somewhere in this rural town. As she drove further down the road, she spotted the first signs of civilization – an idyllic street as if plucked from pre-war Middle America. She kept her eyes open for a payphone, spotting nothing but local grocery stores, barbershops, and mid-century styled diners. Eventually, she found one telephone box located in front of a generic gas station at the end of Main Street. Past that point, it was as if civilization had ended and it was back to abandoned farmland.

Parking the car, Amanda hopped out and headed into the adjoining convenience store. A teenage boy with shaggy hair and a spotty face manned the till. He was distracted; his eyes focused on an old TV set armed with an antenna. With his elbow propped up on the counter, his chin slipped off his palm when he noticed the new customer. Hastily, he collected himself and stretched out his arm to press the power button. She couldn't blame the kid; _I Love Lucy_ reruns were a great cure to a summer job's monotony.

Amanda browsed the aisles for a few minutes as she thought about her sister and what she would have been doing in a place duller than Loganville. She imagined Kim's bony fingers touching the display of Coca-Cola cans, sending them down to a sticky heap much like she often did when she was just a little girl.

She pulled a box of tampons from the shelf and a bottle of iced tea from the fridge. As she approached the counter, the boy didn't say a word. His mouth twitched into a nervous smile as he scanned her items. "$8.47," he said. She threw down a pack of gum on the counter and pointed through the glass to a box of Lucky Strikes. The only reason she was prolonging the transaction was to gauge if the teenager was, indeed, as clueless as he appeared. The more he didn't know, the more she could trust him not to tell on her. His pockmarked cheeks flushed as he pulled out the cigarettes.

After paying for her things, Amanda pulled out her phone and swiped to the most recent picture she had of Kim. Her smile was wide enough that her prominent cheeks nearly touched her eyes; her sandy blonde hair was pulled to the side to reveal a swan-like neck. She was the picture of innocence – but of course, Amanda knew her sister was anything but that.

"Have you seen this girl recently?"

The boy hunched over and squinted as he studied the picture. His bushy brows knitted together, his tongue licking the border of his bottom lip. "Yeah, I've seen her come in here a few times," he began, gesturing to the bottle of Arizona Iced Tea on the counter. "She buys the same drink, actually."

"Do you remember when she was last here?"

He shrugged. "It's been about a month. I think the last time I saw her was around Labor Day. She came in, bought a pack of smokes, and used the change to make a phone call."

Amanda glanced at the solitary telephone box by the side of the road. She pictured Kim standing in that box and making that cryptic phone call, telling her she didn't need to worry about her because the people who took her were taking good care of her. But Kim was messed up in the head, and she often couldn't tell the difference between good Samaritans and manipulative monsters. But that cryptic call she received was some time during the tail end of winter, which meant Kim had been living in that area for a while, and she was making calls to someone else. "Was she with anyone when she came by?"

"No. She was always alone… I always thought it was weird how she'd come by once every two weeks or so to pick up groceries, and then walk out east," the boy said. "There's nothing out there but farmland for miles, so she must've been walking for hours with, like, twenty pounds of stuff on each arm."

Amanda quickly thanked him as she grabbed her items and headed back into the car. She pulled out of the spot and drove eastward; and as the gas station attendant had told her, it was all uncultivated farms. About five miles into her journey, though, she spotted a shuttered house standing at the end of a long, dirt road. At one point in time, it must have been this beautiful Victorian house with a wrap-around porch and a third-story lookout with sloped ceilings. But weather and neglect had run it down – shingles falling off the roof, paint chipping of the walls, and plywood and yellowed newspapers boarding up the windows. Taking a chance, she drove up to the abandoned house.

The gravel crunched beneath her boots as she marched toward the porch steps. The floorboards creaked, and when she reached the front door, she noticed the slats of wood nailed across. There was no way inside.

She walked around the house in search of a way in. And she was ready to give up, when she noticed the drainpipe running the length of the house. If she could manage to climb eight feet up, she could get on the overhang and possibly through the second-story window.

Grabbing a nearby bucket to boost her up, she crawled up the wall, the toe of her boots digging into the weathered cracks on the siding. Using her elbows, she pushed herself up onto the overhang and grabbed the pipe so she wouldn't slide off the steep slope. She kept her body close to the wall, he knuckles turning white as she gripped on for dear life. Her feet slid along an imaginary line, as close to the wall as possible, until her fingertips felt the cool metal of the windowpane. She breathed in to brace herself. And in one swift motion, she tucked her chin and used all her weight to fling her body forward. Shards of glass and torn newspaper fell to the ground followed by her body, landing in a loud thud.

Rolling off to the side, she stopped as she hit a wall. She looked up to see dingy pink wallpaper peeling off and hanging over her head. She pushed herself up, careful not to cut her palms on the broken glass.

Scattered around the room were mattresses stained in various bodily fluids. A door was ajar to reveal another room with more mattresses on the floor. The smell was overwhelming; it reeked of saccharine cotton candy perfume trying to disguise the odor of stale piss. She held onto her breath as she pushed the door open into the other room, hitting a plastic hamper that had tumbled its contents onto the floor. Against the gray mattress and the dust-covered wood floors, the rainbow of lace and satin stood in stark contrast.

She didn't need to crouch down and inspect it firsthand to realize she had accidentally knocked over a basket of dirty laundry. The fishy stench of used panties had her turning her head away. She swallowed down just as her gag reflex had decided to come up.

Walking past the panties, she continued to explore the second floor of the house. She guessed that its former residents packed up and left in haste. They had taken almost everything with them apart from that laundry basket and bits and pieces of makeup and lotions that were strewn over the bathroom sink. An open bullet of red lipstick had rolled over to the base of the toilet, and she wondered how it had gotten there. If it had been forgotten, or if it had been lost in a struggle.

Downstairs, dirty blankets sheathed vintage furniture. A sofa with faded floral upholstery had cushions that were stained in varying shades of brown and rust. Kitchen cabinets still contained a few non-perishable food items, including boxes of Ritz crackers and ramen noodles. The gag reflex reared its ugly head again when she opened the refrigerator. Inside, rotting food festered, the mold forming spores in the dark and damp confines. She slammed it shut just in time to hear a crash from the living room.

Her heart raced. Amanda suddenly wished she had taken her gun with her; but she couldn't have risked her partner waking up to the beeping noise of the safe. She crept to the archway that separated the kitchen from the rest of the house. She steadied her breath and closed her eyes, before she peered past the wall only to find a stray cat.

The cat purred as it rubbed its cheek along the smooth curve of the object it had knocked down. Amanda squatted down beside it and eyed the animal carefully. It sensed her disquiet, baring its teeth before slinking away. She picked up the egg-shaped ceramic, now sporting a crack along the middle. Setting it back on its stand on the console, she found a simple crucifix attached to a delicate silver chain. Throwing one last look around the room, she pocketed the necklace.

* * *

The condensation on the beer bottle transferred to his fingers. Lifting it to his lips and letting the ice-cold liquid soothe his throat, he watched as the colony of seagulls descended to the water. Their beaks barely touched the surface before they swooped back to the sky.

It had been hours since Amanda had gone missing. There was no way to reach her because her cell phone was powered off. He was almost erratic enough to call Olivia and ask her to use police resources to track down Amanda; but with her cell off there was really no way to do that. Besides, he didn't want his failure to keep track of his grenade of a partner to be broadcasted in the 1-6. He would just have to wait and sit around like some pathetic fool.

The sound of gravel trampled under the soles of her boots lifted him from brooding contemplation. He looked up to see Amanda approaching. Her hair was pulled up into a messy bun; her cheeks were brushed over by a layer of dirt and grime. As his eyes traveled down her body, he noticed the scrapes and the inflammation on her right forearm.

She averted her gaze as she tried to walk past the deck, heading straight for the door. Nick quickly rose from the chair, the base of the bottle striking against the table.

He held his arm between her and the door. "Where the hell have you been?"

Amanda tried to duck and get past him, but he leaned his whole body against the door, effectively stopping her. She lowered her head and chewed on her lip. "I was out."

"Out where?"

She lifted up the bag containing the items she bought from the convenience store, and she drew a box of tampons. "I didn't think you'd want to come with me to pick these up."

Nick scoffed and shook his head. She had to have been out of her mind if she expected him to believe that load of bullshit. There was no way she was gone for hours and returned covered in dirt and scratches just to pick up one box of feminine products. It was actually quite insulting how she didn't try harder with her lies.

He knew she went out of town.

The reason he knew that, for sure, and knew that she wasn't just held up at the grocery store, was because he took one of Phillip's cars to drive around Southampton looking for her. And when he didn't find her, he, instead, ran into one of the women he met at brunch.

Violet Walker had invited him and Amanda to a cocktail party at her house that coming Friday. She refused to take no for an answer; not that Nick was going to say no, considering he and Amanda had both agreed they were going to work on this investigation _together_.

But when he woke up that morning to find the empty space beside him on the bed, and later, to discover that the car had gone missing – he knew that the previous night's agreement didn't mean anything to her. She was still going to keep secrets from him. And there was no worse feeling for someone as innately paranoid as him than to be left out in the dark.

Nick stared at her, the serious expression on his face unwavering. " Where were you?"

Amanda didn't answer. She looked past him, at the door she probably prayed would be her escape. She clenched her jaw and sucked in her cheeks, refusing to comply with his demands.

He grabbed her wrist and trained his eyes on the thin scratches running along her skin. She tried to shake off his grip, but he held tighter. "What happened?"

"It's nothing," she said, unfolding the sleeve of her shirt to cover most of the evidence. "I fell on my arm. It's not a big deal."

"Fine." Nick released her wrist. He stepped aside, running his fingers through his hair. One day, it seemed as if they were making progress. And the next, it was like she was doing whatever she could to sabotage their partnership. Resting his arms on the rails that wrapped around the deck, he glanced over his shoulder to meet her eyes. "If you think keeping things from me is the way to save those girls, then if – no, _when_ – this case gets thrown out, it's gonna be on you." he said. She cast down her eyes and crossed her arms protectively over her body. "By the way, I thought I'd let you know we're invited to Violet Walker's party on Friday. It's an exclusive guest list and she's expecting us to be there."

She scratched her neck, her brows furrowed. "You don't think this could be –"

"—I don't know," he interrupted. "I doubt it. It's too soon; it's not shrouded in secrecy. She asked me in the middle of the street so…. I guess we'll just have to prepare ourselves for whatever happens." Nick stared out to the water; it helped calm him and keep his temper in check. Even though all it really did for him was muzzle down the anger and the vitriol.

Inside, that fire was still burning.

"You're right," she said, and by the time he turned around, she had gripped the doorknob and pushed inside. As she crossed into the cabin, he shook his head and cracked open another bottle.

* * *

 **June 26**

The Walker compound was situated on a cliff with breathtaking views of the Atlantic. Compared to the imposing luxury estate that belonged to generations of the Walker family, Phillip and Grace's house looked like a summer cottage. Not to be outdone, the interiors of the estate were just as luxurious with antique furniture reupholstered in lavish fabrics. The walls were decorated with priceless pieces of art they've collected from painters they've rubbed elbows with over the years. Among the well-dressed guests, there were a handful of photographers roaming the crowd and snapping pictures. Drifting through halls bordered by marble columns, maids and stewards moved with military precision as they served and catered to the guests' every whim.

Dressed to the nines, Nick and Amanda entered the party. She wore a sleek white dress with a balconette bustier and lace trim. Her feet were adorned with silver bejeweled stilettos that matched the sparkling diamond on her finger. Meanwhile, Nick was dressed in a black suit with a crisp white shirt and the top few buttons undone. Putting aside their differences for the evening, they walked arm in arm to the cocktail party.

Having waiters walk around, serving unlimited champagne, made the evening more bearable for Nick. As much as he wanted to hold a grudge at Amanda, he had to suspend that resentment in the name of the job. He drank another glass of champagne as he listened to a man blather on about the economy. And despite the fact that Nick didn't trust her completely, he allowed Amanda's body to settle into his embrace. He splayed his fingers at her waist, tracing the dip and bow and burning it into his memory. His skin slipped against the silky material of the dress – the dress that made his mouth run dry and his heart leap into his throat the second he saw her descending the stairs.

For the rest of the evening, they met new people and socialized with acquaintances they had met at the country club. They flirted openly with each other; although, the alcohol in his system had him coming on stronger. But Amanda didn't resist his advances as she intertwined their fingers together, and rested her head on his shoulder. And as the night wore on, champagne was traded in for colorful cocktails for her neat amber liquor for him. And with every sip, the physical contact grew bolder.

Lights were turned down low and the live jazz musicians drowned out the intimate conversations. Stepping into that space took them back to another period in history, where women wore shimmering frocks and men called each other 'old sport' while they held a pipe between their lips. And although the guest list comprised of prominent albeit stuffy individuals, the party itself conveyed a lackadaisical – almost reckless - atmosphere.

Couples lazed on velvet loveseats, whispering sweet nothings in each other's ears. At the bar, a woman barely listened to her spouse recount a story; and when she thought no one was paying attention, she stole a glance with the lone man at the end of the bar. An older man, who was once joined at the hip with his beautiful wife, snuck up the grand staircase. Minutes later, a much younger guy pounced up the stairs. They didn't return to the party for at least another hour, the wife having no idea that their son's friend from boarding school was sodomizing her husband.

Amanda stood beside him as she dodged another compliment from a man at least twice her age. He told her she looked exquisite, even though his eyes never left her breasts. When the man wouldn't stop ogling, she placed her hand on Nick's bicep and leaned into him. "Let's get another drink." She said it loud enough that her admirer could hear it, and she even threw in a breathy giggle that tickled his ear.

On the way to the bar, they ran into the evening's host. Violet was dressed in a slinky, scarlet gown; its provocative neckline dipping below the valley of her cosmetically enhanced breasts. Her dark brown hair was pulled up in a sleek chignon to reveal diamond chandeliers framing the sides of her face.

She flashed a brilliant white smile. "I'm delighted you two are here."

"Thank you for having us, Violet," Amanda began before she continued to praise the woman for the party she had thrown. They all caught up briefly as Violet rehashed the story of how she ran into Nick earlier that week. She stared at him with a sparkle in her eye and called it kismet.

"You know, I haven't seen your husband all night," Nick started, craning his neck to look around the crowd. "I've been meaning to say hello."

"Owen's in the city. His meeting ran late so he decided to stay in our penthouse on Fifth." She waved her wrist dismissively and rolled her eyes. There was no disappointment in the tone of her voice; it was simply annoyance. It was as if she had expected him not to show up, or she was irritated just by the mention of her husband's name. "Anyway, there's a friend of mine I want you two to meet," she said as she steered them to the other side of the room. "He's an artist from Milan, who does nude portraiture."

* * *

In a secluded and gated area outside of Southampton, a driveway wound through the forest leading to a palatial lake house. Made of stone and wood, it blended in with the natural environment.

Within its walls, Owen Walker reclined on the four-poster bed adorned with black satin sheets and opulent fur throws. He was dressed down in a pair of slacks and an ox-blood shirt undone to reveal the sprinkling of silver on his chest.

He had his eyes shut, his blood pressure dropping and breaths relaxing, when a woman entered the room. His eyes fluttered open as he inhaled the scent of her cotton candy perfume tangled with the heady jasmine in her blonde tresses. Instantly, Owen recognized her. She had been at his service before, _her mouth and tongue doing dirty deeds between his legs_. He remembered her; although in that moment, her name slipped from his mind, which was slowly sinking into sedation.

Her rail-thin body walked into the dark room. Equipped with a silver tray and a bottle of Dom Pérignon, she poured him a glass and served it with a smile so sweet it reminded him of a succulent peach. He could have taken her right there – _bent her tight, little body over his lap and spanked her ass until she begged for her daddy._

But he knew that she wasn't the main event. This pretty blonde was more of an intercessor between him and the service he was actually paying for. This girl was tasked to ensure that everything was set up the way he wanted. She supplied the champagne and replenished the Quaaludes and cocaine on the nightstand. Her sweet face looked up from the arrangement of toys – whips, handcuffs, balls, and chains. _Who knew that under that angelic exterior, she was a wild one, spreading her legs with no qualms or reservations_. She allowed him to exercise his most depraved kinks on her and _she fucking loved it_.

But tonight, that wasn't what he needed. He craved for _true innocence… for something virginal._

She refilled his champagne; her blue eyes locking with the icy grays of the man lounged in bed. Her name slithered to the tip of his tongue. He was starting to remember it as a place, perhaps a city below the Mason-Dixon. And then it flowed from his lips. "Savannah."

Her cheeks flushed as she tried to suppress her smile. Turning on her heel, she slowly sauntered toward the door. She opened it and helped a younger girl into the room. _She was just what he ordered_. Her caramel skin glowed under candle light, revealing the natural curves of her _developing_ body. His gaze travelled from her _shaved mound to her breasts_ , which weren't as large as his wife's but they looked like _soft pillows_. Long, ebony hair framed her round, innocent face. And when she bit down on her quivering lip, a single dimple appeared on her left cheek. _Her fear was the kind of feeling he wanted to evoke from her_ ; and his cock stirred to life.

Owen curled his finger and urged the girl to come closer. He stared at her like a predator about to ambush its prey. His mouth salivated at the image of her _young_ body just waiting for him to ravage. The hair on his arms prickled with excitement as he imagined the feel of her smooth skin under his touch, _the feel of her resistance under his iron grip_. He grew harder as he imagined her writhing in pain and pleasure under him, as he pictured her _coming for him against her will_.

With a nod and a smirk, he dismissed Savannah, leaving him alone with the fifteen-year-old _whore._

* * *

The fast-paced jazz in combination with the sugary cocktails was giving her a headache. In the dark space, where guests hid in corners to exchange secrets, spasms of flash bulbs burned bright.

Photographers, with their _Society Pages_ badges on their nondescript vests, continued to roam the party. Collectively, they scoped out for familiar faces – the elite of the elite. But there was one particular photographer that captured Amanda's attention. He had dark hair and a scraggly beard. His round, tortoise-shell glasses frequently bumped into the viewfinder as he took a picture; so every time he set the camera down, he had to readjust the frame on the bridge of his nose. He had a different approach from the other photographers. The way he was snapping candid shots felt voyeuristic. He canvassed the room for groups engaged in intimate conversations, couples canoodling on chairs meant for one, secret lovers kissing in shadowed corners.

Amanda saw it as her in.

Her _husband_ was across the room, talking to a group of men he seemed to genuinely get along with. These social gatherings weren't as mentally and emotionally exhausting for him as they were for her. In Nick's experience, conversation was light and easy. And it wasn't like Amanda had social anxiety, but it was hard to concentrate on what people were saying when she was on constant look out for any signs of Kim. When every single skinny blonde in the room made her heart race in frenzy, it was hard to be a functioning social being.

As she approached the men, she thought about how Nick had carried her for most of the night. Introductions were easy, but remaining interested in other people was a challenge. So it was a good thing to have him by her side to keep her from appearing too distracted and withdrawn. He also took the flirting up a notch; which, judging from the vacant look in his eyes, he was only doing to advance the assignment.

Linking her arm into his, she approached him from behind and excused him from the group. They were fascinated by her husband's involvement in professional sports. And, luckily, Nick knew enough about fantasy football to make a convincing sports agent.

"I'm sorry." Amanda smiled sweetly, her southern accent drizzling like honey into every syllable. "Would you, gentlemen, excuse me and my husband for a moment."

The men grinned back, allowing the interruption as they had some idea of what she wanted from Nick. Their eyebrows wagged, smirks playing on the corner of their lips. When they thought she wasn't looking, they raised their drinks to him as a toast. It was all very objectifying but she didn't have time to lecture them about the finer points of feminism. That was best saved for another occasion.

She slipped her hand into Nick's as she led him away from the other men. Dragging him across the room to an isolated space, she stopped a few feet from where the photographer was standing. He had his head lowered, busy adjusting the settings to his camera.

"Amanda, what are we doing here?"

Pulling on the lapel of his jacket, she leaned in close to his face and whispered, "Trust me."

Before he could get another word out, she crashed her lips on his for a heated kiss. Nothing was tight-lipped about it this time. His mouth parted slightly in surprise, swathing around her with warmth and tenderness. He was so caught off guard that their noses got in the way, pressing against each other it became difficult to breathe.

As they broke apart for oxygen, Amanda opened her eyes just in time to catch the first flash of the camera. Closing her eyes, she pulled him down for another kiss. Tilting her head, she pressed hard on his mouth. His hands found her waist, slipping down to dig into her hips. She felt like her body was melting slowly from the contact alone, but she needed more…. No, _they_ needed more. For the cameras.

Her tongue traced the perimeter of his bottom lip, begging for entrance. He coiled his arms around her lower back, pressing her body harder against him. She slipped her tongue and he met her halfway, exploring the softness of each other's mouths. Her hands travelled to the nape of his neck, intertwining her fingers as she pulled him further to express the depth of her desire. His hard body emitted heat and she felt like molten pools of candle wax dripping at his kiss.

And even when the flash bulbs ceased to burn and the photographer afforded them their privacy, the _husband_ and _wife_ still kept going, unaware.

It was no longer about putting on a show.


	8. Water

**AN** : _I updated before the apocalypse! YAY! Again, thank you to everyone who left reviews - the thoughtful ones and the ones yelling at me to update. In response to a suggestion for a pregnancy scare, I don't know if we have room for a pregnancy and a baby because the timeline of this story is late June to end of August. But I'm not saying it's off the table... they just have to get it on first._

 _Also, I always mean to say this in an author's note, but I always forget. This story is inspired by the show The Affair. If you haven't checked it out, please do so because the storytelling and the nuanced performances are amazing. Problem is, I dislike most of the characters so I don't see myself writing fanfic for them; and that's why I have SVU characters (who I love) in that sort of setting instead. The cabin and the outdoor shower are based off the ones in the show ;)_

 _Oh, and if you're missing rollaro or having withdrawals because of the winter hiatus, I suggest checking out chapter 16 of Ruined Beyond Redemption. It's got some smut that could use some reviewing/loving. :) :) :)_

 _Anyway, enough talk. On to chapter 8. Please read, enjoy, and review!_

* * *

 **Hush**

 **8\. Water**

* * *

It rained last night.

The smell of wet earth hung in the gray mist of her morning jog. Wordsmiths called it _petrichor_ – that earthy smell when rain fell on dry soil. Historians traced it back to Greek mythology, defining it as the fluid that flowed in the veins of gods. Running miles down the wet pavement and feeling the wind in her face, she felt that mystic energy propelling her forward.

Amanda felt like a god.

Rubber hit the ground as she maneuvered right toward the archway of the Huxley estate. She ran up the long stretch of driveway, passing by trees swaying in the aftermath of the rainstorm. Her muscles were sore and her lungs were crying out for oxygen, but she kept going. She only slowed as she neared the house, her hands falling to her hips as she collected short yet deep breaths.

She missed _this_. It wasn't the same back in Atlanta. Rarely did she have the opportunity to run in a park that wasn't a hotbed of crime or the backdrop to a weekend family picnic.

Having grown up in Loganville, she was spoiled with miles and miles of countryside. She was so used to running on uneven dirt roads and earthen paths to the swimming hole, that she had to adapt to the smooth clay of the track oval. And while some of her proudest memories were crossing finish lines and pumping her fists in the air, no feeling could replace those mornings when she tried to outrace the rising sun. There was no need for music pressed to her ears when she had the ambient sound of a world that hadn't been roused from sleep. She closed her eyes, feeling the morning dew on her skin. And she knew that she could keep running blind and she had to fear an obstacle was in her way. The naïve dreams and the misguided freedom – those were the things she missed about her youth.

Walking past the front steps of the Huxleys' home, Amanda spotted the roll of newspapers sitting on the welcome mat. Something clicked in her head and she remembered it was Sunday – the day _The Society Pages_ were delivered. The adrenaline coursing through her veins amplified as she ran up the steps to swipe the copy. Leaving The New York Times on the porch, she trekked back to the cabin.

Amanda flipped through the pages, eyes skimming over pictures of people in fancy attire attending various events and fundraisers. The part that struck her was how instantly she recognized some of those faces. It was important to the job to know the people they were dealing with– but to become like one of them?

She almost missed what she was looking for, but it was right there in black ink on light gray paper. It was on the twelfth page on the bottom left. The vertical image couldn't have been larger than the size of a credit card, but the candid shot of their kiss was clear enough to tell a story.

' _Nicolas Santiago, Miami sports agent, and his wife, Amanda Marsden.'_

Amanda Marsden was just a socialite – a cultured albeit inexperienced debutante, who attended social functions in hopes of meeting a man worthy enough to treat her like a princess. She waited for this man so the responsibility of guardianship could be passed on from dear old dad to the sucker who'd end up being her futurehusband. Amanda Rollins knew all this information about the character she was playing. But she still couldn't help but take the caption personally. It wasn't even about _her_ , but it still left a bitter taste in her mouth that Nicolas had a title and a career, and she was _just_ the wife.

As annoying as it was, she couldn't take it out on the man pretending to be her husband. It wasn't Nick's fault that people in these parts had messed-up priorities. And even if she did decide to be a bitch toward him, she couldn't imagine he would even care.

Ever since the kiss at Violet Walker's cocktail party, Nick had turned into a recluse. When he wasn't keeping his distance by going to the gym or hanging out with Phillip at the garage, he sat out on the deck with a book and a six-pack of beer. At night, when they went to bed, he'd wait for her to fall asleep before he joined her, lying on his side and facing away from her. Whenever she tried to ask him a question, the answer was always concise but never quite rude.

Amanda didn't know why he was acting so strange; and part of her didn't want to know. The timing of it all made it seem as if Nick had reservations about this unexpected development in their assignment. He had her hopes up when he said he was doing this with her. And now that they were at the cusp of joining the inner circle, it would throw a wrench in her plans if he decided to back out.

Entering their makeshift home, she walked into Nick looking out the ocean view. He was leaning against the dining table, a bowl of cereal in his hand. He failed to notice her company until the door closed with a loud thud. He glanced over his shoulder; his brows furrowed as he quietly observed her loose tank and leggings.

"Morning," Amanda greeted with a chirpiness that was unusual to both sets of ears. He responded with a nod before he turned his head back to the unchanged view. Setting the paper down on the table, Amanda flipped it to the page with their picture. "Guess who made it to _The Society Pages_."

Nick glanced down at the picture for less time than it took to read the caption. He walked past her and into the kitchen, where he set the bowl down in the sink and filled it with water.

"What, you're not gonna say anything?"

"What's there to say?" He shrugged. "We have one picture in their dirt sheet. Doesn't mean we've made it to the big leagues."

"It's a start. You know how important it is to these people to be seen."

He scoffed.

"Hey, I'm not saying I like this either. It feels like high school all over again, trying to get noticed by the popular crowd," she confessed, trying to placate some of the tension in the room. She needed to make it clear they were on the same side. "It's ridiculous – I know. But we agreed this is the only way we're going to find those girls."

"Yeah, all right." Nick wiped his hands on a towel, before tossing it onto the counter. He slid past her, his arm brushing up against her shoulder. Without a look back, he kept walking until he reached the front door. "Talk to me when we're finally invited to one of their secret parties."

* * *

He was running out of pages.

Half an inch of the book's spine wasn't strong enough to support the 300 pages he had leafed through in the last three days. Stretching his legs onto the outdoor table, Nick set the bulk of the book down on his thigh.

Murder mysteries weren't a genre he often read, bearing in mind the plots weren't too far removed from the day-to-day of his job as a detective. They often got on his nerves because he had trouble suspending disbelief when writers were clearly taking advantage of their audience's ignorance. The way protagonists skirted the law to solve crimes was so absurd that reading, for him, became less of a leisure activity. And it became more about the words on the pages trying to instigate a fight with his training and expertise.

From cover to cover, this rogue detective investigated a murder, fell in love with a suspect, charged of committing said murder, and lost their lover in a boating accident. In spite of how much it irritated him, he couldn't put the book down because he just needed to know what happened next. Besides, he didn't have a lot of options because, besides medical journals, these were the kind of books Phillip kept in his library.

Nick's eyes drifted from the ink on the page to a pair of normally pristine white shoes, now soiled from treading through mud. Paloma stepped onto the deck, clutching a silver envelope in her hands.

"Señor Nicolás, usted tiene una carta."

"Gracias, Paloma," he said with a smile, taking the outstretched envelope. "¿De quien?"

Her brown eyes grew bigger, as if indicating the importance of the letter's sender. "Señor Leo Fiorentino."

Nick opened the envelope, pulling out an invitation to a Fourth of July party on Leo Fiorentino's yacht. The invite was unexpected, as they never met the elusive man at any of the parties they previously attended. Nick didn't even know he was in town. Sure, everyone had heard of the self-made billionaire who made his fortune investing in tech start-ups in the mid-2000s. But New Yorkers - particularly those who paid attention to local news - knew of Fiorentino from his drug trafficking days.

The heir to a substandard family-owned pizzeria in Hoboken, young Leo peddled drugs in the streets. He dropped out of high school and worked his way up a gang, until he dethroned the boss and expanded operations to include international drug trade. They weren't just recruiting truants to push drugs anymore; they were smuggling millions worth of cocaine from Cartagena every year.

Before Leo even hit forty, he was charged for drug trafficking. The NYPD knew the man was scum, but the only evidence they had to prove his involvement in illicit activity was circumstantial at best. He was smart enough not to leave a paper trail. And so, he was acquitted of all charges and walked out of court a free man.

Police and the Feds were still watching him like a hawk, so he couldn't exactly resume business as usual. He ended up moving to Japan for a few years. Then, when he returned to the US, he invested all of the drug money into start-ups in Silicon Valley and quadrupled his investments. Here was a man who circumvented the rule of law at one point in his life; and now, he was a man who made his first billion in accordance with the law and the spirit of capitalism.

Some people worshipped the man as an American hero.

"What's that?" Amanda pulled the door open and stepped out on the deck. Her eyes rested upon the envelope, ' _Mr. and Mrs. Nicolas Santiago_ ' embossed in cursive.

"It's an invitation to a party on a boat," he replied in a tired tone, handing her the envelope. "I hope you don't get motion sickness."

"I don't." She snatched it from his grip and pulled out the card detailing the location, the appropriate attire, and the number to RSVP. She flipped it over to the blank space on the other side, hoping it would afford her more information about the party.

Nick had already started on the last chapter. The protagonist had caught the real killer, but the mystery of who stabbed his lover and threw her overboard still remained unsolved. But Amanda kept staring and rereading the invitation as if it would reveal the answers to the questions in her head. Setting his book down, he sighed. "Leo Fiorentino – used to be a big-time drug lord in the city. Ten years ago, he made a lot of money investing in IPOs and now he claims to be a reformed man."

"So you're saying we should keep an eye on this guy?"

If his history of criminal activity and his entourage of porn stars and Instagram models served as clues, then he had to be on top of the sex trafficking food chain. Nick's underdeveloped theory: Leo longed for the days smuggling shipments of cocaine past the American border; and this was his great comeback – sexual slavery.

"He has the means. And I can see money and women being his motive."

"Sex party on a boat." She released a disgruntled breath as she shook her head. "No wonder these guys think they're untouchable."

"You think this is it?" he asked, meeting her blue eyes for the first time all day. He had almost forgotten why he was avoiding them in the first place.

She shrugged, sliding the envelope across the table.

"You said it. Leo has the means, the motive, and the criminal history. If this isn't our guy, then I'm sure he can lead us to the right direction."

* * *

The last days of June were crossed off the calendar. By the time July and the cicadas arrived, whatever bad blood Nick was harboring had mostly faded away. He was still withdrawn but, at least, he wasn't maliciously ignoring her. They worked together as a team, coming up with strategies in preparation for the yacht party, even when they knew these events were always unpredictable.

Amanda had asked him if kissing was still on the table; and, straightaway, he said it still was. And like a turtle retreating back into its shell, Nick hung his head low in embarrassment.

They were both so convinced that the night would turn out to be the sex party. Nick spent his afternoons reading up on Leo Fiorentino's life, drawing webs of social connections. He determined that Leo was, not only a client at Marcus Young's law firm, but also a matchmaker. He set up Marcus on a date with a British model who then became the future Mrs. Young.

While Nick focused on their networking strategies, Amanda tried not to psyche herself out. She knew what she was getting herself into before she even boarded that flight to New York. But now that it was drawing near, she felt her stomach turn from the anxiety. Could she really do this?

Could she trust Nick to do this with her? It was clear by his recent actions that he was having second thoughts; and he probably just had too much pride to say anything about it at this point. She wondered if it had anything to do with his divorce. That maybe he wasn't ready to be with someone other than his ex. She didn't know the reasons why his marriage ended. But she could guess that a man like Nick was the type to hold a torch for the mother of his child.

Guilt might explain for his atypical silence. She probably would have had a better read on things had they spent any time talking about their personal lives, but some topics seemed to be implicitly off-limits.

Talking it out, especially with men, was never really her strong suit. She preferred to let actions do the talking. If she liked a guy, she jumped his bones. If she didn't like a guy, she left him in the morning.

She knew what she was doing to Nick was wrong. Her intentions were seriously fucked up. But she just needed to be absolutely certain that Nick wouldn't flake on her when it mattered.

It began with their sleeping arrangements. Even though Amanda was used to sleeping alone and having a queen-sized bed all to herself, she had invited Nick to sleep next to her. The first night, she had woken up in his arms. But ever since their kiss, he slept as close to the edge as possible. Her plan was to pretend to be asleep and curl up next to him. At first, he was stiff but he never moved away. Slowly, she felt him ease into it until she found herself waking up nestled in his strong arms. And she started to realize she really didn't mind sharing the bed with someone else.

The next task on her list was a little more challenging. Compliments weren't something she freely gave away. It wasn't natural to her; and Nick seemed to know her enough to doubt the honesty behind a seemingly random compliment. Comments like _'nice shirt'_ were not a problem. But it did feel a little odd when she started making casual observations about how his time at the gym was paying off. It was uncomfortable - probably for both of them because Nick had turned bright red at her flattery. But it surprisingly wasn't as challenging as she had imagined. Perhaps because it wasn't a lie.

That day, the needle on the thermostat was pushing ninety-five. If she stared out to the distance, the image appeared to her in waves, disorienting her already scrambled brain. Her hair was piled up away from her neck, her skin sticky from the generously applied layer of sun cream. She would have preferred to stay indoors under the blast of AC, but the current situation called her plan into action.

Nick glided through the water, his arms treading in smooth yet powerful strokes. Long legs kicked, causing waves to ripple and splash toward the sides of the pool. As he neared the edge, he flipped and kicked against the wall, launching him back in the opposite direction. Defined back muscles flexed ever time his arms emerged out of the water, and they relaxed as he fell below the surface.

And although it was all part of the plan, Amanda didn't even realize she had been staring in amazement.

She moved to stand by the patio lounger, removing the silky cover-up around her waist. As she reclined on the chair, she drew one knee up and pointed the toes of her other foot. Looking through her dark sunglasses, she kept her eyes fixed on the man in the water.

She glanced down at her body, completely exposed apart from tiny strips of black nylon held together by skimpy strings. She knew what she was trying to do, but she hadn't really thought about what she was hoping to get out of it. And now that her plan was in motion, she wasn't even sure if she was ready to find out.

With her terrible timing, she decided she was going to abandon ship and run back inside to put some clothes on. But she was too late as Nick had risen out of the water. Shaking his head, hair flying in all directions, he opened his eyes to survey the only change in his surroundings.

Immediately, he was drawn to her.

Hidden protectively by a pair of large frames, Amanda observed as Nick kept his eyes locked on hers. All week, she had to deal with his deflected gaze. And now that she was finally under the dark, molten pools of his piercing stare, she could hardly handle it.

She took a sharp breath, stretching her back against the chair and unintentionally pushing her chest out. He arched a brow, a hint of a smirk creeping at the corner of his mouth. She lowered her glasses down the bridge of her nose, peering over the top of the frames.

The smirk spread across his lips as he shook his head. Combing through his hair with his fingers, he flattened out the loose curls until they were sleek. He waded toward the pool's edge before he pushed himself up, water sluicing down his sculpted body.

Amanda wished she had reconsidered her plan to play temptress. It would have been so much easier had she been trying to attract someone who wasn't so… _gorgeous_. Nick was beyond any subjective spectrum of conventional attractiveness; the man was objectively and irrevocably attractive. If anyone said otherwise, they would have been lying through their teeth.

Nick was strong without being too bulky. Lean and sculpted, his body was all smooth planes and sharp edges just like the angles on his face. Water rippled down his chest, dusted with just the right amount of hair to assert his masculinity. The trail led down to his abs – six stacked muscles that contracted and relaxed with every deep breath. Lines on the sides of his hips dipped below the band of his shorts, its material clinging magnetically to his thighs.

As he stood on the perimeter of the pool, he cast a look in her direction. His eyes never wavered as he pulled on the shorts to keep it from sticking to his skin, to keep from forming a distinct outline around his groin.

Amanda's skin felt like it was scorched. She wanted to blame it on the rays of the sun striking her body. But no one would believe her. How could she blame heatstroke for the way her nipples hardened under the flimsy fabric of her bikini?

The plan was to have an effect on him and to subdue those doubts that troubled him. And while it might have worked to some degree, the results weren't what she expected. The verdict was out. Her plan had backfired only because she was the one most affected.

* * *

 **July 4**

Water cascaded down his back; his head hung low as the worry heightened in anticipation of their Independence Day plans. Nick stood in the outdoor shower, surrounded by thin, corrugated walls that went up as far as his shoulders. Lifting his head, he looked through the gap to watch the sky darken into twilight. Above him, the light had been turned on in the bedroom. Sheer curtains billowed past the open doors of the balcony, shrouding the feminine silhouette of a woman getting ready for a party.

Closing his eyes, he tilted his face under the hot stream of the shower. The images that formed beneath his lids harkened back to the last few days and the sudden change in Amanda's demeanor. While he made a concerted effort to maintain his distance, she kept trying to reel him in for reasons that were still unknown to him. The subtle flirting was something he only picked up on because he was vigilant for her every move. Even if he didn't want to be.

Late at night, she curled up next to him, her head on his shoulder and her arm rested on his waist. He didn't have the heart to push her away. And why would he even bother trying? He woke up every morning naturally drawn to her in his sleep, wrapping her in his arms and burying his nose in the intoxicating scent of her hair.

 _Yes_ , kissing her at the party was something they had agreed was unavoidable in the name of the investigation. He had even made a smug joke about how she'd get lucky enough to kiss him one day. He never imagined it would come sooner than expected. And in the end, the joke was on him.

The idea of a sex party was so inconceivable at the beginning, but he had started to grow more comfortable with the idea because he convinced himself he would see it as part of the job. He thought he could separate Nicolas Santiago from Nick Amaro. But ever since the night of the cocktail party, those lines were blurred. The unofficial obligations of their assignment seeped into his personal desires. And the more he tried to talk himself into believing it was just work and nothing else, the more he felt like he was losing his rational judgment to his emotions.

Whatever it was he was feeling – Nick knew that it was growing stronger by the day. Amanda's vivid presence waltzed under the limelight, center stage in every waking thought. Even when he tried to avoid her or preoccupy himself with old hobbies and new ones, he could still picture her face and feel the brush of her lips against his.

He was confused. He didn't know if these were real feelings or just a haze of lust that followed him around like a storm cloud. Either way, Nick believed he was truly going off the deep end.

And yet he allowed the thoughts to take up precious real estate in his brain.

As the water rippled down his body, his mind exhumed the buried memory of their kiss. He had tried so hard to think about other things but it was next to impossible to ignore the fire it had lit in his bones. The way her fingers laced on the nape of his neck, the way her tender chest pressed up against his, the way her lips tasted like champagne and strawberries – all those thoughts unleashed a primal need from within.

He grew hard just thinking about her.

Leaning one hand against the wall, Nick bent his head and allowed the rush of water to wash down his upper back. His other hand feathered lightly over his length, feeling it harden under his touch. He knew he shouldn't, but he couldn't resist. As his fist wrapped around the base of his cock, the guilt rooted in his gut. With every long, firm stroke up the shaft, the guilt bloomed into red, hot desire.

Images of Amanda in her barely-there bikini overwhelmed his retinas. The steam surrounded him, concealing the thrusts into his grip. He hardened like steel as he pictured the way her porcelain skin shined under the sun. His balls ached for release as he pictured the way her knee bent to the sky, legs parted to intimate the outline of her lower lips. He remembered how her nipples strained against her top; he had to double back just to make sure he was seeing things right because he wasn't sure he could trust his mental faculties at the time.

His fist continued to bring himself closer to climax, pumping fiercely as the flow of water on his back quieted his groans. As he imagined the way her tongue slipped into his mouth, he dreamt of that tongue and those lips working on other places on his body. He lost it. A white-hot flare roared inside him as stream after stream of his cum shot from the head of his dick.

He filled his lungs with as much air as he could steal with one breath. Immediately, he felt dirty getting off at the thought of Amanda.

After the cold shower that soon followed, Nick slipped on the pants he planned on wearing to the party. He combed through his damp hair with his fingers, smoothing the curls away from his forehead. He began to head back inside to change into the rest of his clothes, when he noticed the ghostly stillness upon entering.

Reaching the top of the stairs, he stopped at the sight before him. It was like déjà vu from that time they returned home from brunch and Amanda was drunkenly attempting to strip her dress. This time though, it was the other way around.

The scarlet fabric complemented her creamy, white skin; its vibrancy reminding and tormenting him about that fire that burned within him. The dress fell mid-thigh, rising to cling to the womanly curve of her hips. It had an open back with a delicate silver chain to secure it at the neck.

Only it wasn't secured.

It was more than just the smooth planes of her back exposed. He could see the sides of her breasts, unrestrained apart from the thin material of the dress.

She swept the loose blonde curls over one shoulder as she reached behind her to untangle the chain. As her eyes darted to the full-length mirror, she saw him intruding on what she must've thought was a private moment.

"Do you mind?"

He cleared his throat, bowing his head and averting his eyes before pointing in the direction he came from. "I – I'm sorry. Didn't know you were changing. I'm gonna go –"

"No," she said. "I meant, do you mind giving me a hand?"

He felt that scratch in his throat again. And it was as if he had tunnel vision since his eyes could only focus on her and his mind could only process what she was doing to him. Slowly, he approached her, his senses firing with every step. It had only been minutes ago when he lost himself at the mere thought of her, and now he was getting worked up again. He felt as insatiable now as he did back when he was a teenage boy French-kissing a girl for the first time.

His breath hitched in his throat as he took it all in, eyes memorizing the ridge where her spine ran and the two shallow dimples on her lower back. He bit down on his bottom lip as he took the thin chain and unraveled the knot. As his knuckles brushed against her shoulder blades, her back arched slightly and she sighed quietly.

Once the chain was untangled, Nick clasped the lock securing her dress. Taking it between his thumb and forefinger, he straightened out the remaining length of chain; his knuckles lingering lightly down her spine to the small of her back.

Amanda shivered. And when Nick caught her eyes in their reflection, tight blue rings enclosed endless pools of black.

He was drowning.


	9. Independence

**AN:** _For Taylor, congratulations on finishing school! I promised I'd get this up in four hours since your last tweet, and I think I'm just a couple minutes shy of doing that. For everyone else who's reading and reviewing, thank you! The response is much appreciated, and I promise I will get to bone jumping (?) and all that good stuff soon._

 _It's finals week(s) and that's why I've been slow to update. I feel guilty for writing when I should be studying. But I'm a terrible procrastinator and that's why I have this updated. . Anyway, please read, enjoy, and review. Oh, and let me know if you have any theories about who's in charge of the trafficking ring/who's working together._

* * *

 **Hush**

 **09\. Independence**

* * *

For a vessel meant to voyage the sea, the multi-million dollar yacht spent an awfully long time anchored at the marina. Amanda's patience was wearing thin and her anxiety was running high.

The sky had darkened into an inky black, reflecting against the stillness of the Atlantic. Jazzy melodies resonated from a grand piano laid out on the bow of the ship. Rose bubbles fizzled in crystal glasses as copper trays served up canapés of reimagined Fourth of July staples. Pigs in a blanket were traded in for exotic fruit wrapped in prosciutto; apple pies replaced with pear and Brie petits fours. Even the traditional flag cake was decorated with red and blue edible flowers.

"Amanda darling, what a lovely dress," said Sally Livingston. She kissed her cheek-to-cheek and held the younger woman at arm's length, admiring the way the scarlet dress wrapped around her body.

"Thank you," Amanda replied, feeling the warmth rise to her cheeks.

"Vera Wang Spring/Summer Collection 2013, am I right?" asked Paula Young, the former model whose long legs were accentuated by the slit of her Grecian-inspired dress.

Amanda looked down at what she was wearing, silently cursing herself for forgetting to read the label before putting it on. She had no idea what Paula was talking about. But she had read of the designer's name before while flipping through fashion magazines at hospital waiting rooms; she just wasn't acquainted with her work. "You're right," she said with a casual shrug. "I haven't worn this in ages, but I thought it would be perfect for tonight."

"I think it's so refreshing wearing pieces more than once," added Bronwyn Gaffney.

"It's nice," Violet said flatly, her eyes surveying the blonde from head to toe. "Even though it's practically vintage."

The Southampton Mean Girls were in attendance. As if Violet and her entourage would have missed the Hamptons' most sought-after invitation this Independence Day weekend. Just from flipping through the last issue of _The Society Pages_ , Amanda learned that Leo Fiorentino was the _it_ summer resident of the coastal community. If there was an analogy to describe him, he was the new kid in school who showed up looking like 90s Johnny Depp on the back of a Harley Davidson.

Men wanted to be him. Women wanted to sleep with him.

Leo had a mystery about him. It had been over an hour since his party had begun, but he had yet to make an appearance.

In spite of their host's no-show, the flowing booze and the live music kept the energy up well into the evening. Violet made her rounds; kissing cheeks and pasting a forced smile on her face. Her bored husband, Owen, stood by her side for the first ten minutes but quickly veered off to smoke cigars with other men.

The Youngs were arm in arm as they mingled amongst friends; Paula looking more like Marcus' daughter than his wife. Amanda kept a close eye on the husband, remembering his connection with their top suspect. If Marcus was Leo's legal representation then he likely had access to privileged information about his client's operations. He was one to watch out for. It was just too bad that his chosen topics of conversation and his interactions with his wife were painfully dull.

Like Sally and Bronwyn, their respective husbands were hard to tell apart. Both men were white and middle-aged, with slightly prominent midsections, and comb-overs of blond hair to conceal their bald spots.

Thus far, the Fourth of July had been disappointing. And it was actually one of the few holidays she didn't mind celebrating, because there was no pressure to spend it with family. That, and it gave her an excuse to partake in the excessive drinking. Technically, she could still do that with all the alcohol available; but ( _also_ ) technically, she was still on the job.

None of the planning and preparations mattered because none of the things she and Nick hoped to happen was coming into fruition. Their usual suspects weren't acting any different from previous encounters. The elusive host of the party was pulling a Jay Gatsby. And the party itself didn't seem to be the sex party she had been nervously anticipating. It was just another highbrow affair to celebrate the long weekend.

She felt a warm touch on the small of her back. Nick's hand pressed up against her skin, a shiver permeating through to make her stomach flutter. She ignored the uncontrolled reaction to his touch. Narrowing her eyes, she craned her neck to face him and felt her hair skim across his face. His breath caressed the shell of her ear as he whispered, "Four o'clock – someone just pulled up."

Amanda leaned against his chest, glancing sideways to see a limousine. She watched as a man dressed in a black suit opened the door. A long, tanned leg first appeared. Her hand slipped into the man's as he helped her out of the car. She wore a white dress that glowed blue under the dim moonlight; its hemline barely covered the ample assets she was blessed with. The young woman was followed by five more women, each one wearing less clothing than the last. Even with her backless dress, Amanda suddenly felt like she was better fit for a convent.

Nick applied more pressure on her back, sliding his hand to her waist. They watched as the women stood in line, taking direction from the man in the suit.

As the six women neared the yacht, Amanda was afforded a better look. She noticed their lanky builds, their unsteady gaits, and their heavily made up faces. Whoever styled them and applied a thick ring of liner around their eyes was compensating for how young they actually were. She drew in a deep breath and glanced up to meet dark eyes. Nick must have been thinking what she was thinking.

These were the girls they were looking for.

* * *

Miles stretched between the yacht and dry land. Drinks poured like eternal springs. Polite chatter was passed up for salacious gossip and backstabbing laughter. Isolated from the rest of the world, the party had this air of secrecy about it that made people feel like they were important. Like they were better than everyone else. Like they were untouchable.

Although the girls were late to arrive, as soon as they stepped foot on the boat, the real party started. Not only were they finally moving out to sea, the ambience had turned the dial to a hundred. Much to the chagrin of most wives, the girls livened up the party with their dancing. If dancing was defined as sex with their clothes on.

Amanda knew the risk of looking like a creep when she watched them, but the age of those girls wasn't as clear-cut as she had anticipated. The girls taken from the group home in Atlanta were between the ages of twelve and seventeen. But upon closer observation, the girls on the boat looked older than that. Then again, many of the teenagers she encountered in her job were runaways prostituting their bodies for hire; they were forced to grow up faster than most kids. The signs of abuse manifesting in the scars on their skin and the hollowness in their eyes.

They also didn't have a distinct southern accent. The way she saw it, these weren't the crop of girls kidnapped from Georgia. But she wouldn't have put it past the trafficking ring to kidnap girls from different states. Regardless of where they came from or whether they were forced against their will, it was still sickening having these girls parade around like objects for consumption. The terrifying part was that it was working. The men were naturally drawn to the variety of female forms on display, their jaws unhinged and saliva foaming at their mouths.

Only one of a few whose eyes didn't wander was her partner's. Even when a Latina sculpted like Jessica Rabbit slid past him, her full chest pushing up against him, Nick appeared unaffected. In fact, he had this flicker of remorse in his features, like he had accidentally touched something he wasn't supposed to. His throat bobbed as the girl's fake lashes fluttered to reveal a pair of innocent yet playful eyes. "I'm sorry," she apologized insincerely, not making any immediate effort to adjust for her invasion of his personal space.

Amanda averted her eyes and turned her attention to a man sat between two girls. They looked like Barbie dolls feeding the man grapes and wine like he was some sort of Roman god.

Beside her, Nick's jaw clenched at the sight. She had no idea if it was jealousy - if he wanted to be in the man's position. It could have also been his instinctive reaction to defend the girls' honor, which she realized was going to be a problem moving forward. In the real world, his chivalry was something to be commended; but out here, it was the last thing they needed. They would never complete this assignment if her partner couldn't keep his heroic cop tendencies in check at every sight of a damsel in distress. He had to learn how to rein it in.

She nudged him on the shoulder. "Chat the girl up. Go find out how she knows Leo."

Nick gave her a hard look.

"I'm not asking you to break the law," she said through a gritted smile. They were still surrounded by people in various states of intoxication, but they knew better than to blow their cover by speaking too loud. "Just talk to her."

He brushed his thumb along his jaw, glancing over his shoulder to catch the Latina eyeing him.

"Would it be easier if I left?" Amanda asked. He shook his head, but bit down on his lip with a characteristic uneasiness. It made sense for her to walk away and give him the opportunity to chat up another woman without his _wife_ looking on. Besides, most of the wives had gone inside to the yacht's saloon to drink more champagne and trade tips from their overpaid personal trainers. Violet and her posse were up there, except for Paula, who was huddled in a corner, whispering sweet nothings into a girl's ear. Marcus stood a few meters away and watched on as his wife flirted with the baby-faced blonde.

Amanda turned to face Nick. She caught him off guard as she pressed a lingering kiss on his cheek, whispering against the coarse stubble. "Relax. It's not like I'm divorcing you for flirting with someone else."

He pulled back, his eyes squinted and mouth twisted into a scowl. "Fine."

"Good." She patted him on the chest for good luck and turned on her heel to head inside.

The lavish and spacious interiors of the yacht placed any of the homes she'd ever lived in to shame. Even the sitting area was bigger than the entire square footage of her apartment in Atlanta. Polished wood, cream marble, and gold accents decorated the space. Rich, brown leather seats ran along the glass windows looking out to the ocean.

Amanda rounded the corner to head upstairs to the saloon when a door swung open. One of the girls stumbled out, her short dress hiked up to her ass. Her lipstick was smeared down to her chin, and her nostrils were red with a faint dusting of white powder.

"Sorry," she giggled, scrunching her nose before swiping it with the back of her hand. "Just a little tipsy."

It was clearly more than just a little alcohol in her system. The girl slid past her to get back to the party, her dress still hiked up and her feet unsteady in the pink stilettos.

"Wait," Amanda called out. She noticed that the zipper on her dress had split, and that's why it was sitting indecently at her hips. "You might want to get that zipper fixed before you go back out there."

She looked over her shoulder to inspect the damage. "Shit. I told Leo to go easy."

"Leo?" Amanda asked, motioning for the girl to turn around so she could help her with her predicament.

"Yeah. This is the third dress he's ripped; he owes me… He just gets way too fucking eager, you know? Especially when he's hopped up on coke." She sighed and looked over her shoulder, watching as Amanda readjusted the metal teeth of the zipper and pulled the hemline down to her thighs. "Thanks."

"No problem," Amanda replied. "Hey, you mentioned you were with Leo… My husband and I were invited to this party and we haven't even had the chance to thank him for inviting us."

She rolled her eyes and chuckled. "That's typical Leo. He likes to keep this air of mystery. Between you and me, it's bullshit. But it works. It gets people talking."

"So, you've known him a while?"

"I met him last fall at an entrepreneurship event at Columbia. He asked me if I was interested in an internship for his company, and we've been working and partying ever since. He's literally the best boss ever. Like, he invites us to his parties and tells us to use this opportunity to build our networks."

"You're in college?" Amanda was a bit startled. "You look so young."

"I'm nineteen. But yeah, I get that a lot," she said with a shrug, pushing her breasts up to spill out from the low-cut neckline. "But Leo treats us like we're adults. And that's why he's the best… Anyway, thanks for saving my dress. Ciao!" She blew a kiss at Amanda and sauntered away.

She looked on as the girl seamlessly joined into a conversation between two older men. She slipped her arm around their waists. One of the men reached around to grab and squeeze her ass. She jerked. But instead of a normal, outraged reaction, she giggled and smacked him playfully.

Amanda was wrong. These weren't the girls they were looking for. They were agreeing to come to this party and spend time in the company of older men. And, besides, there was nothing illegal about sleeping with young women over the age of consent.

But Leo Fiorentino's harem of college interns? That was fucked up.

* * *

"Does she like to share, papi?"

Her manicured fingers played with the collar of his shirt as her thighs pressed up against his legs. Luisa, the busty Latina, had him cornered against the railing. If her chest pushed any harder, he might've gone overboard. And at that point, he probably would've felt safer stranded in the middle of the ocean.

Nick cleared his throat. "Uh… That's something I'm going to have to discuss with my wife."

"Do you always do what she tells you?" she asked, brown eyes blinking to stare at him. Even though he now knew Luisa was nineteen, there was a nagging sense of guilt that came with having someone barely legal so close. But he did promise his wife he was going to talk to her; and the only way he was going to extract information was if he allowed her hands to wander.

He wasn't blind. Luisa was a beautiful girl. But that was it. She was just a _girl_.

Her thigh nudged between his legs, eliciting a reaction from his body that his mind knew better than to entertain. She licked her plump lips, colored a deep shade of cranberry. "I think it's sexy when a man takes orders from his woman. Even better when he's dominated by two."

He swallowed hard.

"Amanda," he called out, craning his neck to the side as soon as he saw her emerging from the saloon. She furrowed her brows, studying the compromising position he was in with the tanned brunette. He resented her in the moment; she shouldn't have been standing there looking like she was judging the situation when this was her idea in the first place. Nick pushed himself off the railing and brushed his fingers over Luisa's bare arm. "It was great talking to you, but would you excuse me?"

She smirked, leaning forward to press her lips against his ear. "Come find me later, papi. With or without the wife."

Nick pulled himself from her clutches and made his way over to his _wife_. She had an unreadable expression on her face; he couldn't tell if she genuinely looked annoyed or if she was playing up the jealousy for their audience.

"You're looking awfully cozy together." Amanda gestured over to Luisa. Before she gave him a chance to defend himself, she spoke quickly. "So, what did you find out?"

"Luisa Gonzalez, nineteen, an incoming sophomore at TSU, and one of many of Leo's interns."

"Same. I met a girl inside who's in the same arrangement, probably just had sex with Leo, too," she said, lowering her head and keeping her voice down to a whisper.

"He's on the boat?" His eyes darted over their surroundings, taking note of the complete change in atmosphere ever since the girls hopped aboard. It reminded him of Violet's cocktail party – that sense of high stakes – but this time, the ante was upped much higher.

"I don't know where he is though. My girl left before I could ask her more questions," she said. "Did you find anything else?"

"Luisa told me about the recruiting process. We're talking headshots, pictures of the girls from every angle, background checks, medical exams, the whole nine yards. He's extremely careful about being accused of rape so he makes them sign contracts before they're hired as 'interns'. Apparently, he files all of it electronically in a server at one of his cybersecurity firms."

"What are you saying?"

"He has a taste for young women. He's smart, methodical, knows how to use his resources," Nick trailed off. "I really think we have our guy."

She chewed her lip, contemplating all the information she just received. "If only he would show up to his own party… You think he invited us tonight to test out the waters? Maybe he's got a similar recruitment process for his sex club."

He had almost forgotten about the sex club. He was so distracted with the seduction techniques of a nineteen-year-old that he failed to remember that they didn't have anything to pin on Leo. They came in to the party expecting concrete proof of a sex trafficking ring. And all they had to show for it were college-aged girls trying to hook up with their boss and his friends to pad up the references in their résumé.

It was morally questionable, but it wasn't exactly grounds for a warrant.

"Mr. and Mrs. Santiago?" Nick turned around at the mention of his undercover name to find a man dressed in a dark suit.

"Actually, I still go by Marsden." Amanda smiled sweetly, a sly twinkle in her eye as she caught her _husband's_ eye.

"I apologize, Ms. Marsden," he said. "Would you two please come with me?"

"Where are we going?" she asked, a hint of hesitation woven in her voice. Her hand slipped into Nick's, as if seeking his protection. It didn't seem like something she would do and he knew he shouldn't have doubted that it was an act, but something about it felt real. Or maybe his head was messing with him again.

The man in the suit stood with his back straight and his arm swept to point further inside the vessel. "Mr. Fiorentino would like to meet with you in private."

* * *

He sat behind the mahogany desk, feet propped up on the table near an opened bottle of Grappa. He drank the colorless spirit, its potency cleansing him like he was pouring bleach down his throat. His eyes closed to savor the bitterness of herbs and the honeyed trace of caramel.

A knock on the door pulled him from his thoughts. It was James and he had brought along the special guests of the evening, just as he was instructed. The couple walked hand in hand into his office; it was sweet.

But sweet wouldn't cut it.

"Leo Fiorentino." He stood up and offered them a handshake. With his free hand, he indicated to the loveseat in his office. "Have a seat."

"It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Mr. Fiorentino," said Amanda in that charming southern accent. "Thank you for inviting us."

"Please. Call me Leo."

He laid eyes on the blonde, memorizing every dip and curve held close by her dress. Loose waves swept over one shoulder, a fringe barely skimming over bright blue eyes. The pictures from James' camera hadn't done her justice. She was beautiful.

The husband must have caught him staring. Nick's jaw clenched, his hand releasing hers to wrap around her shoulder. Possessiveness and jealousy were tricky qualities, as they never failed to cause problems. But he couldn't deny that there was something primitively sexual about a man asserting his control over a woman.

"I'm sure you're both wondering why I've asked to meet with you," Leo began. "It's a small community here in Southampton. People talk even when they're not supposed to… You might have heard rumors about the things people do around here that you may not find on _The Society Pages_. Things we do that are off public record." He lifted the cigar to his lips and took a long drag, before releasing a thick plume of smoke. "Some are hearsay; while others are the truth."

He assessed their reaction. The couple exchanged a look between them, a mix of confusion and, finally, recognition.

"For the last couple of weeks, I've had my eye on you two… Well, my good man, James, who you've just met; he's been showing me pictures that prove you would make good candidates for an exclusive club."

"You had us followed?" Nick asked, a hint of anger mounting in his voice.

"Calm down, my friend." He chuckled quietly to himself as he remembered the collection of pictures he had of the couple. By now, Leo was familiar with Nick's short temper having seen their fight at the clubhouse. But that wasn't the only thing he was aware of when it came to the Cuban-American. Those pictures of him standing in the outdoor shower, water running down his face and coursing past his broad shoulders - they had excited him beyond measure. There were a few taken early in the morning just as the sun was rising. It was Nick in the nude, stepping out of the shower to reach for the towel he loosely wrapped around his hips. Leo would have done anything to see that cock up close and personal.

"It was research," Leo added, a smug smirk creeping across his face. "But rest assured, I will not have James taking pictures of you without your knowledge from now on… If you promise to help me out."

Amanda's brow arched. "Help you?"

"See, I'm trying to get back to a friend's good graces, and I believe you and your husband hold the key to making that happen."

"I don't understand," she trailed off.

Nick studied him carefully. "What's going on?"

"I got myself into a bind a few months back, and I've been trying to rectify that situation. But that's between me and a friend," Leo explained without giving much away. "And that friend has finally given me a chance to redeem myself if I recruit you into our sex club."

The revelation had them looking to each other in both shock and excitement. Leo bit down on his lip to quell his own excitement; the prospect of Nick and Amanda putting on a show for him got the blood rushing between his legs.

"It's invitation-only and it's a one-time offer. So you decide here and now."

"Amanda?" Nick looked at his _wife_ with an unmistakable care and tenderness.

"We have to make a choice," she whispered. "We said we'd do this if the opportunity presented itself –"

"—Is that a yes?" Leo interrupted.

The couple stared at each other for a moment, nodding once to affirm they were on the same page. Nick turned to the host of the party. "Yes, we'll do it."

"Brilliant," Leo exclaimed, leaning forward to shake their hands with renewed vigor. He snapped his fingers and motioned for James to leave his post by the door. "Go get the contracts set up." He turned at the couple with a broad smile, pearly whites cradling his lit cigar. "Nick and Amanda, you have just made me a richer man. Grazie amici miei!"

* * *

"What did we just get ourselves into?" Nick paced along the starboard side of the boat. They were all alone after signing the contracts and stepping out of Leo's office. After the agreeing to the terms of their arrangement, fresh air was much needed; and he inhaled the stuff like he had been submerged underwater the entire time.

"Having second thoughts?" Amanda asked.

His mind was going a mile a minute trying to process the fact that he had pretty much signed his life away to the devil. Pages upon pages of the contract outlined the nature of the sex club – a modern day Bacchanalia with drunken revelry and untamed sexual experimentation. Open relationships were encouraged, but this wasn't just a run of the mill swingers club. They had play parties, which was just another name for an orgy. It was a secret society of kinks, fetishes, and fantasies that promised to be fulfilled.

Any red-blooded male would have jumped at the chance to be a part of this club… this _cult_. And with Amanda standing beside him, ready and willing to dive in, Nick wasn't an exception to the rule. That physical part of him wanted to dive right in with her. He was having second thoughts, but it had nothing to do with her suspicions.

"No. That's not it." Nick sighed, running his fingers through his hair. "There's a lot of things that could happen at those parties, and I just want to make sure that we won't end up regretting it."

"But that's the whole point of the contract," she said. "You don't have to do anything you don't want to do. They covered their legal bases by emphasizing consent in every other line. There's the 'ask before you touch' policy and before every event, they make you state your boundaries."

He shrugged. Those were all points he had read in the contract. And even if they were legally binding and the club claimed they didn't tolerate rape and other forms of sexual violence, he couldn't trust them completely. He had a feeling there were several circles to this hell and each step down became more and more lawless and depraved.

He was overthinking things again. It hadn't even begun and he was already thinking of the worst case scenario, and it was making him more paranoid than ever. Glancing sideways, he caught the reluctance in her eyes. She probably felt a little guilty for pulling him into this, but she couldn't blame herself for that. This was his choice just as much as hers.

Since he was a kid, he was always told he was stubborn and incapable of backing down from a challenge. Even when he had the cards stacked against him, and even when he knew what he was doing was wrong, he never gave up.

It always came back to proving he wasn't a coward.

When Amanda scrawled her signature on the dotted line, she had essentially signed it for him. There was no way he was letting her do this alone. Part of it was his inherent savior complex, and the other part was rooted in jealousy. He couldn't stand the thought of a man like Leo staking his claim over Amanda.

She rested her forearms on the railing as she looked out at the dark sea. Out there, the stars shined brighter – an impossible feat anywhere else in the city.

"Who do you think Leo was talking about when he mentioned his friend?" she asked. "He said he was trying to make up for something he did. It sounded like he wasn't the one calling the shots."

"That's true. But we can't rule him out yet."

"If he has access to those contracts then, at the very least, he's working closely with the person running the show." She closed her hands into tight fists, her eyes staring fixedly at a port in the distance. "I just can't wait to take 'em down. I don't even care who's boss. As far as I see it, they're all guilty of something."

"Hey, slow down," he said, trying to dial her fire back down. "You know, even if we took them down, it's going to be a nightmare in court to use anything we find as evidence. That contract was a bitch to get through."

"We'll let the DA handle that," she replied in a bored tone, clearly not interested in the possibility of an impending trial. Her mouth curved into a sly grin as she turned to face him. "Right now, we should be celebrating."

He held his hand up to stop her. "I don't know –"

"—Come on, choir boy. What's another drink?"

 _Another drink_ was one step closer to crossing that boundary he set for himself. It was bad enough being attracted to his partner; she didn't need to be making advances by way of name-calling.

"Look, I'm just as nervous as you are," she admitted, reaching out to touch his arm. "Nick, there's no need to get yourself all worked up over this. It's not gonna be so bad… After all, we've already kissed and we got through it just fine."

He ran his hand over his mouth before he released a heavy breath. "That's the problem," he blurted out, watching the fallen expression on her face. "Us kissing – it wasn't bad. And had it been, then maybe what we're doing right now would be a lot easier. Maybe it would be less confusing. So, I don't know about you, Amanda; but, no, I didn't get through it _just fine_."

"Nick."

She had that look on her face, like she was silently warning him to stop talking. He knew he should have just kept his mouth shut and held in his inappropriate lust for the rest of the summer. Divulging his secret would further complicate their professional partnership, and it might have even scared her off into joining the bacchanal lifestyle with him. It was simpler when he didn't get his goddamn feelings involved.

"It's killing me how much I want to kiss you, even when no one's watching."

Her mouth fell open, eyes startled as she stared back at him. He prided himself in being able to read people, having done hundreds of interrogations throughout his career. But her expression in that second was in a completely foreign language.

She tucked a stray tendril behind her ear. "Then what are you waiting for?"

He wasn't betting on her to feel the same way, but he wasn't going to stand around and question it. His hand slid up her neck to cup her jaw, taking the lead as he drew her in for a slow and sweet kiss.

It was soft – worlds apart from the previous kiss when they had light bulbs flashing and committing the scene into memory.

Amanda's body surrendered itself straightaway, her back arching and her chest pressing up against him. The gentle nature of his lips brushing against hers was heady, and there was something so unexpectedly breathtaking about the simple act. His palm slid just below her ear, entwining his fingers in golden strands as her hands coursed up his chest to his neck.

A sigh fell from her lips, allowing his tongue to slip into her mouth. They were bound so tightly together, her body molding like clay against his. The barest of material separated the two of them from fully connecting, and as the kiss began to pick up momentum, the more urgent the need became to shed their clothes.

Nick tilted her head back, allowing him to deepen the kiss. Her body yielded to the exploration as his free arm wrapped around her waist, steering her back against the wall. Her skin felt so good under his touch; he was so thankful for the fortune afforded by the backless garment. A groan fell from her lips, firm and warm against his awaiting mouth. She snaked her fingers through his hair and sucked on his bottom lip, quiet gasps falling between them as they separated.

He couldn't help but smile as he thought about what this could have looked like to his superiors in the NYPD. He signed up for this undercover operation to prove he could be trusted, to prove he was a competent detective. And less than three weeks into the assignment, he was already getting personally involved with his partner. The reckless thrill made him want her more.

The hot, wet slide of her tongue against his lip, teased him into complying with her wicked desires. A groan rumbled through his chest as she kissed him like her lungs depended on it. Her leg hooked around his hip, heat radiating from her core to the thin fabric of his trousers.

 _Jesus Christ._

He caught hold of her waist and lifted her up against the wall. They didn't break the hungry kiss, continuing to devour each other as his hands roamed her bare thighs. Her skin was so soft yet he could feel the firm muscles tensing underneath. She shuddered with pleasure, legs on either side of him as her hands glided down to grab a handful of his ass. He jerked forward, his hard-on pressing against her heat.

"Fuck."

"Yes," she moaned breathlessly into the kiss. She filled her hands with his flesh, forcing him closer to her because she wanted to feel more of him. She arched her upper body against the wall, keeping him tight against her. "Please."

"You said please so –" she cut him off with another kiss.

Nick's hands hoisted the hem of her dress, pushing it up to an indecent length. They were all alone in a secluded area of the yacht, so neither one gave a fuck. But even if someone were to walk out and interrupt their tryst, he couldn't imagine stopping. With one hand supporting her by her ass, he skimmed his fingers over the top of her creamy thighs and between her legs. He watched with lidded eyes as her mouth dropped open with a breathless gasp.

He brushed over the warm cotton of her panties; the contact alone was enough to have her writhe with urgent expectation. She closed her eyes and bit down on her bottom lip, nearly drawing blood with how red and swollen they were. He pushed the fabric aside and slid against her lips, liquid proof of her arousal coating his digits.

Kissing her again, he drew her bottom lip between his teeth. He slowly slipped two fingers inside her, feeling her walls tight around him. The moment he thrusts into her intimacy, he heard the first claps in a series of explosions. But he was so focused on bringing her to completion that the deafening noise and the flashes of red, white, and blue behind his eyes weren't enough to pull him away.

Amanda tightened around him as she held her breath, only releasing when she opened her darkened eyes. He stared into those bottomless pools only to see the display of fireworks reflected back.

"Happy Fourth of July."


	10. Voyeur

**AN:** _Hey, it's been a while. Oops. Sometimes life happens, important people come visit for the holidays, and you end up in a week-long trip to New York. Plans to update and write new one-shots kinda fell on the wayside, but now I'm back to being "alone", which means I'll have more time to myself and more time to write. UNTIL school starts up again in a week. :) :) :(_

 _Thanks for all the reviews for chapter 9, especially the thoughtful ones that shared their feelings about the chapter and their theories about who might be involved in the prostitution ring. Right now, ff is being weird with reviews but I can still read them through my email, so continue leaving your feedback and theories (including who you think inspired the title for this chapter). They are much appreciated!_

 _Should I even warn you? Things are going to get steamy on this boat._

* * *

 **Hush**

 **10\. Voyeur**

* * *

Cigarette smoke billowed into the salty air as a shadowed figure flicked ashes overboard. They took another drag, starting at chapped lips and ending at blackened lungs. Upstairs, the party had gone wilder than anticipated. A thick fog of inebriation and debauchery percolated in the atmosphere, suffocating them at the throat. And what they needed was a clean break from it all.

When they found a secluded enclave on the starboard side of the yacht, they took it, receding into the shadows.

It was peaceful floating in the vast openness of the sea. The lights from the marina were now a distant flicker, like stars in a Manhattan sky. Out here it seemed as if people could finally pull the masks from their faces and reveal their most basic human desires. They could peel away the layers of their constructed reputations and take refuge in the assurance they would never be exposed. The physical distance from land afforded some latitude for truth in a world that was often so rife with deception.

The lit cigarette rested between two slim fingers; its glowing embers drifting to the bleached-white floor of the boat.

"Fuck."

It was a man's voice – low and deep.

The shadowed figure's hand wavered just as they brought the stick close to their lips. They set it back down, standing silent and holding their breath as they listened.

"Yes," another voice cried out, and it was followed by a throaty moan. "Please."

"You said please so –" The man's voice was cut off by what sounded like flesh and tongues tangling in a frantic kiss. Bones and muscles crushed against steel as a body made contact with the wall of the ship.

The figure dropped the cigarette to the ground and stubbed it with the ball of their shoe, until the last cinder burned to black dust. Leaning their head against the wall, they took a quiet breath as they listened to the noise of lips smacking and breathless gasping in between. They steeled themselves before they craned their neck out, eyes peeking past the wall to see two silhouettes of the human form.

His body – six feet of lean muscle – loomed over hers, pressing her upper body against the cold metal casing of the yacht. Her legs wrapped around his waist, crossing tightly at her ankles and drawing him until their shadows blended into one.

A large hand skimmed over her thighs, pushing the short hem of her dress further up until it sat indecently at her hips. Between her legs, his hand disappeared and she leaned her forehead against his. Without wasting another moment, he pulled her in for another kiss, slow and languid this time.

She arched her back as his forearm flexed, in time with the first colored explosion in the sky. Red, white, and blue fireworks lit the black expanse in a series of thunderous roars. The first few explosions were startling as the figure felt their heart leap across their chest, memories of gunshots ringing in their ear.

The cracks of fire were loud, but not loud enough to drown out the lustful groan released from deep within the woman's lungs. The man had pulled away slightly, his eyes watching intently as her face twisted along that thin line between pleasure and pain. She was on the brink, much like the lit ropes that crackled before they shot up and erupted in the night.

The way he took pleasure in bringing her pleasure was so palpable; the figure saw it in his eyes even from a distance. But as much as they reveled in the whole picture, they couldn't help but focus on every little breath and sound the blonde emitted. Staring at the way her eyes screwed tight in time with every clench of her muscles, the voyeur felt their own fingertips prickle with unfulfilled anticipation.

"Yes!" She threw her head back. "Oh… God."

With his hand below her dress, one between her legs and the other squeezing the ample flesh of her ass, he kissed down the column of her throat. She grabbed his face and kissed him with unbridled passion, sucking on his bottom lip before they parted.

"Come for me, Amanda."

She shook her head like she was trying to resist him, like she was trying to withhold him the satisfaction.

"Open your eyes," he said as he cupped her jaw. "I want you to look at me."

She obeyed his command, eyes fluttering open to stare back at the man to whom she had surrendered control. In that moment, surrounded by still waters and the unrelenting cracks of fire, her body was his.

When she came shortly after, he held her against the wall as her body trembled, loose arms wrapped around his neck. He slowly retrieved his fingers just as she readjusted the hem of her dress. Without taking his eyes off her, he slipped the two digits between his lips, sucking and lavishing her taste.

The shadowed figure felt heat rush down their groin – a natural response of the body they hadn't felt in so long. The display was not only erotic, but it had ignited a spark of bitter jealousy, which was only worsened as he tugged her panties down her legs and slipped the lacy material into his pocket. It was a token of their tryst, much like trophies warriors kept after conquering and ravaging land.

* * *

"You seem rather distracted."

It was as if a forgotten firecracker had spontaneously combusted. Amanda came out of her hazed train of thought to realize she was supposed to be in the middle of conversation with Bronwyn and Sally. The rest of their clique had dispersed, leaving the two more polished and proper women sipping cocktails by the piano.

"Am I? I'm sorry," Amanda replied. "We were talking about your daughter's cotillion?"

Bronwyn smiled warmly, but there was a hint of mischief in her light green eyes. "Yes, but now I'd like to know why you keep sharing _those_ looks with your husband."

"What looks?"

"He keeps looking at you like he wants to eat you up," Bronwyn said, casting a furtive glance at the men standing along the railing. Nick was sipping his scotch while listening to tales of CEOs committing underhanded, personal moves to turn the market in their favor. Amanda followed her line of sight, her eyes settling upon her _husband_ who looked up just in time to meet her gaze. "And you keep looking at him like _that_."

Amanda could do this all night – deny the meaning of those looks to these women, who she owed nothing to, _and_ to herself. The scary part was she dreaded delving deeper into her confusing relationship with Nick more than she feared being under Bronwyn's microscope. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh my god! You just had sex with him."

"Bronwyn!" Sally exclaimed, a delicate hand flying over her mouth.

"See. She's not denying it,"

"We didn't –" Amanda started, pausing to catch a barely conspicuous smirk from her husband, which served to further pique Bronwyn's curiosity. "Nothing happened."

"That's a shame then," she sighed. "If I were you, I'd sleep with that man every chance I get. I hear Latin men make passionate lovers."

Amanda choked on her drink, her eyes growing wide in shock.

"Bronwyn!" Sally called her out again. She glared at her before turning back to the younger woman. "You'll have to excuse her. Her husband is always away on business so she's a little, um… deprived."

The redhead glared at her friend.

"It's fine; but really, nothing happened," Amanda assured, trying her best to downplay it, but neither of the women seemed convinced.

Later on, as they moved back to talking about summer parties and benefits, Amanda kept an eye out for the college-aged girls who interned for Leo. A number of them had disappeared, probably on their knees while men old enough to be their fathers were taking advantage of their naivety. She saw the girl she had run into earlier – the one with the torn dress. She sat on the lap of a man with thinning hair and a prominent belly, his ring-covered fingers trailing up her thighs.

Amanda was so fixed on the disturbing scene in front of her, one that she wished she could change but couldn't without blowing her cover; she hardly noticed the men approaching. They slipped inside the boat, Nick hanging back to settle a hand down the small of her back. "Hey," he whispered into her ear. "The guys are smoking Cubans and asked me to join. I'll be right back," he promised. Pulling away slightly, he looked her over with eyes deepened still by lust. "Forgive me for not saying this earlier, but you look gorgeous tonight."

He pressed a kiss to her cheek, leaving her speechless, before he joined the men in the private smoking room.

Bronwyn used her hand to fan herself. "Sexy and romantic. Well, aren't you the luckiest girl I know."

"I don't think it has anything to do with luck," Sally told her before she turned to smile at Amanda.

Ignoring her friend, Bronwyn continued to ask, "But is he as charming in bed as he was just now?"

"Ok, Bron, that's enough. I think we should go easy on the girl and stop asking her questions about her private affairs," Sally warned diplomatically. Among her friends, she was obviously the most conservative, not just in the way she dressed and carried herself, but also in what she deemed appropriate to discuss in social gatherings. "Forgive her. She's had too much mimosas and she also took a Xanax earlier to calm her nerves. She doesn't like to be out on the water very much."

"It's fine," Amanda assured with a smile. "My girl friends back home would ask the same questions."

"See," Bronwyn pointed out. "It's completely harmless; it's all in good fun. Besides, I'm just letting Amanda know she should hang onto a good thing while she still can. Not that she has anything to worry about. Nicolas seems genuine and loyal; but you can never predict how this place influences even the most honest of men."

Amanda's brows furrowed. "What do you mean?"

"Good, honest men are hard to find these days," she answered vaguely. "And what's left of them is ruined by the people standing in your midst."

* * *

Nick stepped out on the deck, where the party was winding down with the music and the decadence. Similarly, inside the smoking room, the men had burned through Montecristos, just like his father used to smoke. He had listened to them exchange stories about work, wives, and mistresses.

Owen Walker was a serial cheater, but Nick could have easily guessed that by the way he ogled Amanda when they first met or by the way the man looked at Violet with derision. Doug Livingston was hardly any different. Unlike his meek wife, Sally, he was brash and obnoxious about his infidelities. Without considering his perpetually pink face and portly stature, he was the very definition of a pig.

As he bantered back and forth with the men, he felt the yacht shift underneath him. Looking through the windows, he watched as they took their course back to the marina.

He searched through the crowd for the blonde in the red dress. He could still remember the feel of the soft silk and the smooth, warm skin underneath. Below the layers of tobacco and vanilla, there lingered her taste on his tongue.

Amanda drew him in as she looked over her shoulder, her mouth parting slightly and a tendril of hair falling over her face.

As he neared her, she must have sensed something was different with him. "What's going on?"

He checked over his shoulder to see if the coast was clear, but they were surrounded by party guests being ushered out to the deck by Leo's entourage. Sensing the concern in her features, he wrapped her hand in his. She barely flinched this time, allowing him to act out this most simple form of affection.

"Can't talk about it now," he began, his voice low and calm, "but I'll explain later."

With reluctance, she nodded and didn't ask any more questions.

Nick knew he didn't need to prove himself to anyone but the brass. They determined his fate in the department; therefore, only they could judge the success of this undercover operation. But when he was inside that smoking room, and he was persistent in acquiring a key piece of information that could bust this case wide open; it was neither for his benefit nor for the guys up in 1-PP.

He was thinking of Amanda.

He could deny it all he wanted; but the truth was he wanted to impress her. He was thinking of a game-changing move that could make her trust in his abilities as a detective and trust in him as a partner. The payoff wouldn't come until later – if it ever would come at all. But he hoped it would be enough to get her to reveal what she had in stake in this investigation.

"Nick," she said, bringing his attention to the scene that unfolded before her eyes. "Isn't that the girl you were talking to earlier?"

Luisa staggered across the bow of the yacht. Her dark hair was a tangled mess, but it was hardly noteworthy against the busted lip, scratches on her thighs, and the torn straps of her mini dress.

Instinct told him to run to her and protect her, ask her what had happened and who had done it, so he could lay his fists on her attacker's skull. But he was held back by a firm grip around his arm. He looked down to see Amanda giving him a severe look, a trace of sadness and sympathy swirled into icy blues.

She was right.

He wasn't Nick Amaro, NYPD detective. He was Nick Santiago, the bystander.

A man from Leo's security team took Luisa by the arm, pulling her slack body flush against his. "You're embarrassing yourself in front of Mr. Fiorentino's guests," he hissed as he tugged her arm. "'Sides, where do you think you're going? Who says you were done here?"

* * *

"We should have done something," Nick argued as he closed the car door.

"And what?" Amanda asked incredulously. "Blow our cover? This assignment is much bigger than what we saw on that boat."

"So what happens to Luisa?" It angered him to feel so paralyzed. While he had witnessed crimes take place in his undercover days in Narcotics, nothing had challenged his self-control and impulse to protect quite like seeing a woman hurt. Especially when it was a young woman who had reminded him so much of his own sister. He knew the situation was complicated because the girls claimed they knew what they were getting themselves into. But it was clear, by evidence of Luisa's intoxication and the wounds on her body, there was a power imbalance. And what might have started out as consensual quickly turned into something ugly.

It was rape.

Amanda leaned her head against the window and sighed. Walking away from the scene and allowing Leo's men to escort the girl back into the yacht had also affected her. She tried to be reasonable and think about the primary goal of taking down the sex trafficking ring. But like her partner, that instinct to protect and serve just would not lay dormant.

He drove out of the marina lot and half a mile down the road to a clearing that overlooked the water. They waited as the final guests departed the vessel. Still there was no sign of Luisa or the five other interns.

The longer they waited the more impatient and restless Nick became. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and kept looking down to check his phone for notifications.

"Are you waiting for someone to call?" Amanda asked, brows furrowed.

He set the phone down. "No. Not really."

"Earlier, you said you were going to explain something to me and –" she stopped when she noticed him lean forward to get a better look down at the marina. Turning her head, she saw service men pull the chain from the anchor. The yacht was undocking again – this time just with Leo and the girls in tow. "Shit."

Nick banged on the steering wheel, letting his short temper get the best of him.

From the corner of his eye, he saw her recoil, her arms wrapping around her frame and her eyes shutting tight as if to brace herself from an impending attack. And just as quickly, she sat back straight, eyes trained forward, as if nothing had happened.

"Amanda." He reached toward her but she pulled away. "Christ, I didn't mean to scare you."

She blinked as she pressed her lips into a deep scowl. "You didn't scare me."

"You sure? Because I –" he began, but stopped when she gave him a hard look. There was something to her reaction that had sparked fear in him. It was a reaction that he recognized, not only in his line of work, but also in his home as he was growing up. His mother had recoiled similarly whenever his father felt jealous or disrespected. And while Nick could never allow himself to be like his father and lay a hand on a woman or a child, he knew he was wrong for losing his temper in her presence.

He studied the side of her face, her gaze firmly fixed on what was beyond the windshield. She refused to look at him or even acknowledge the next words that slipped out of his mouth.

"I'm sorry," he said, before he started the engine and headed for home.

* * *

While Amanda stared at the unbroken yellow line on the road ahead, her mind attempted to cover up the disturbing picture of the teenager stumbling on her feet as she was being dragged by a man twice her size. Like fresh ink bleeding through the page, the colors from the image blended into another from her past. The emotions they were trying to evoke were the same – fear, powerlessness, and self-loathing. And while the subjects were different in color, shape, and texture, the stories of girls with too much ambition were all too familiar. At the most basic level, when situations called for desperation, they were willing to use sex to survive.

Thick black brushstrokes painted over the pictures – a superficial erasure of the pain that would always be there, beneath layers of secrecy.

At least until the next trigger, cracking the paint to reveal the red light of a motel's _No Vacancy_ sign.

Nick had been talking to her on the ride home. More like complaining, actually. But she hardly listened, knowing he was just trying to fill in the silence with conversation even though it was practically one-sided.

He hated being unable to step in and help Luisa and the other girls. They were being taken advantage of, he repeated as if Amanda didn't understand and agree with him the first time. He wrestled with the girls' decision to be interns for a known predator; but he ultimately decided that they couldn't be held responsible because they were, in his words, being pressured and manipulated by a man in a position of power.

She hated it. Like Nick, she hated the situation those girls were in and she wished there was something she could do to make those dirty, old men pay for their vices. But what she hated the most was how she saw herself in those girls, and how Nick reminded her she was just as easily pressured and manipulated not too long ago. The girls knew what to expect when they stepped into that limousine that drove them to a port in Southampton. Likewise, she knew what to expect when she agreed to a deal with her commanding officer.

"I feel complicit letting this happen," he sighed as he followed her upstairs to the loft. He sank down on the bed and rubbed his weary eyes. "Maybe I should call my partner. Maybe the squad can do something on their end without risking our cover."

"No!" Amanda whipped around. "We agreed that the department can't find out about our plans."

"This is Olivia though. She'll understand."

"No."

He stood up and rested his hands on his hips. "Don't I get a say in this?"

"You do. And I still say no," she said with finality, hoping her stubborn partner would drop his ridiculous idea. As much as she felt guilty leaving those girls to their own devices, she had to remain focused on her end goal, which was ensuring the safety of her sister. She had yet to find Kim; and Amanda was starting to feel like her time was quickly running out.

"When are you going to start treating me like an equal? I'm sick and tired of busting my ass, trying to gain your trust. And yet you're still not being completely honest with me."

"Busting your ass? Are you fucking serious?" Amanda cried out, twisting her face in an expression of disbelief. "You spent the night trading locker room stories with your boys, smoking cigars, and charming your way into my pants. You know, if you had kept an eye on your girl instead of choosing the worst time to tell me you're horny, then maybe nothing would have happened to her."

His skin deepened to a shade of red, steam practically bursting out of his ears. "Are you jealous of Luisa?"

She threw her head back laughing, before she walked away. Leaning against the dresser, she began to remove her earrings and the bobby pins that held her hair in place. "Don't flatter yourself. You're not all that."

"Really?" Nick crossed the room like an animal plotting to hunt its prey. He stood behind her, his eyes fixed on her reflection as her fingers brushed through her loose curls. His right hand was in his pocket, slowly rising to reveal a pair of lace panties. He let the fabric skim her bare arm until he brought it close to her cheek. He was taunting her, proving to her that she felt the same way, that she wanted him just as much as he wanted her. His breath ghosted over her ear as he whispered, "Admit it. You liked being finger fucked on the side of that boat."

"Fuck you, Nick."

His eyes met hers as he smirked devilishly. Scrunching the lace up in his fist, he pressed it to his nose and inhaled. "I bet I'm making you wet right now."

She ground her teeth and clenched her jaw.

He dropped her panties to the floor and, with his hand, trailed along the curve of her shoulder to her neck. He cradled the length of her throat, stretching her neck out. He held her cheek to cheek and watched as her skin colored into a rosy hue, her eyes fluttered shut, and two hard points appeared beneath red silk. Slowly, with her head cradled in his hand, she turned and claimed his mouth in a lazy kiss.

His other hand fell to her waist, urging her body to melt into his. She felt like dripping candle wax under his touch, and his kiss had lit a flame that swiftly surged into wildfire.

Amanda moaned into his mouth as she felt his erection dig into her backside. Earlier on the yacht, she was fortunate enough to get release from his skilled fingers; but her partner – not so much.

Spinning around and grabbing hold of his shirt, she darted her tongue out to lick along the seam of his lips. He tasted of scotch, tobacco, and sea salt. She coaxed him into a deeper kiss and he instantly opened up, gliding his tongue over hers in a battle for control. A wicked laugh rumbled from his chest as she dug her fingernails through his shirt. He swatted her ass lightly and pulled her against him to secure her in his hold.

Her hips rolled forward, grinding in an erotic dance against the straining tent in his pants. She locked her teeth into his bottom lip and slowly pulled back, lashes fluttering to reveal blown out pupils. He stared back at her with equal intensity, letting their bodies fall into each other.

If eye contact were enough to start a fire, they would have burned their newfound love nest to the ground.

"Tell me you want this," Nick murmured, nudging his thigh between her legs.

"I will if you will," she challenged.

"You're not going to make this easy, huh?" He kissed her hard on the mouth before he stepped away and unsnapped the buttons of his shirt. The white tee he wore underneath clung to the defined planes of his chest. Amanda's wandering eyes traced the lines of his physique, up to his face where his delicious mouth was turned at the corners in a smug smirk.

He raised an eyebrow expectantly and Amanda snapped out of her daze.

It wasn't fair. While Nick was dressed from head to toe, all Amanda had on was a slinky dress and a pair of stilettos. One move in this game and she would have been naked. His smirk turned into a toothy grin as he shook his head knowingly, having proof that tough and headstrong Amanda Rollins could talk a big game but not follow through. She narrowed her eyes at the uninhibited expression of arrogance; and in one abrupt motion, she gripped the hem of her garment and pulled it over her head.

Nick swallowed hard, his head tilted low as he stared at her nude form. She stood confidently in the center of the room in nothing but her heels and it was the sexiest sight he had ever seen in his life. He practically had to hinge his jaw back on, before he peeled off his shirt in haste.

Amanda skimmed her tongue over her lips, eating him up with her hungry stare. She took a step forward and traced her finger up his muscled arms, gliding along his collarbone, up to the juncture between his neck and shoulder. He hissed as her fingernails left red lines on the surface of his skin.

His hand followed the path from her wrist to her elbow, before he brushed upon her breasts. Her nipples hardened into stiffer points, provoking him to dip his head and sweep his tongue over them. The warmth of his mouth enveloped the cool peaks as he sucked firmly. She grabbed the back of his head and held him in place, basking in the pleasure his hot mouth provided.

Her body hadn't felt this alive in such a long time. Desire rushed through her veins and clouded the rational part of her brain that told her it was a bad idea to get involved with someone she worked with. Even if this helped their story as husband and wife, they didn't need to cross this line. But as he bit down on her nipple, the sharp sting made her bones quiver. It made her forget the doubt clawing through and screaming from the back of her mind. All she could think about was the feel of his tongue swirling around the tip, elevating her arousal, before rapidly flicking it back and forth.

This was just foreplay, but like he accomplished with his fingers earlier that evening, she was already on the edge.

She pushed his head away and took several deep breaths as she tried to regain her composure. Similarly, Nick's breathing was uneven, his mouth swollen from devouring her breasts. Confusion fell over his face as he wondered why she stopped him.

"This is never going to work," she said breathlessly. "But I never make the best choices when it comes to sex."

Nick appeared to be at a loss. "You want to stop? Because if you say no, then I'll back off. No arguments."

"No. I mean _yes_ ," she said quickly. "I know this is stupid. I know this is a bad decision… But I'm not saying no. I want this."

"If I'm going to be part of your bad decision," he said with a roll of his eyes, "then I have to tell you that I'm known to be impulsive when I'm angry."

"You're still mad about what I said?"

"Very."

His large hands drifted from her waist to her back, where he pulled her flush against him. Amanda squealed at the unexpected contact of her soft flesh against his taut muscles.

His fingertips brushed down her sides as he crouched down, leaving a trail of kisses down her neck and chest. She felt his palms course over her thighs, his mouth following the descent with a few open kisses on her tender breasts. She steadied herself on his shoulders as he dragged his hand up her inner thighs, running a single finger through her wet folds. This time, he withheld her the satisfaction of slipping it inside. He simply coated his digit in her arousal before licking her taste, humming in approval as it hit his tongue.

"Come here," she commanded, urging him back up to full height by the nape of his neck.

Amanda fumbled with his belt, pulling it halfway out of the loops, before wrenching the button of his pants open. She impatiently dragged them down along with his boxer briefs to reveal his fully erect cock. As she bit down on her bottom lip, her hand brushed along the shaft, the pad of her thumb swirling over the tip and spreading the thin coat of precum.

His hips jerked forward as she continued to stroke him with her soft yet firm grip, his eyes intent on locking with hers. Suddenly, she remembered what she had been told earlier about Latin men being passionate lovers. And although she had no plans of admitting it out loud, she was eager to find out it the stereotype was true.

As he cupped her jaw, he kissed her with rising intensity. He sucked on her bottom lip and slid his middle finger into her sopping, wet core, slowly pumping it in and out just as he did on the yacht.

She tore her mouth from his, leaning her forehead on the base of his neck as her hips bucked to the motions of his hand, wanting him to go faster and deeper. He obliged, adding a second finger and increasing the pace. His thumb found her clit, pressing down and circling on the nub of flesh, making her inner walls throb and clamp down on his fingers.

As she ground into his hand, she gripped his cock in an attempt to restore her control. She squeezed him a little harder and pumped faster, watching as the veins thickened and engorged the head.

"Fuck. Let me," he rasped as he closed his eyes. "Let me fuck you before you make me come."

"I'm not going to last much longer either," she panted, her legs starting to tremble as she fell into him.

"I've got you," he murmured, wrapping his arm around her limp body and easing her down on their bed. He got between her legs and hovered over her, connecting their bodies with a kiss that made her yearn for more. She watched with heavy lids as he rose to straddle her, his tanned skin glowing with a sheen of sweat. His eyes darkened to onyx as they raked over every inch of her body, down to the five-inch spikes still secured to her heels.

Amanda spread her legs in invitation.

"No missionary tonight." He smirked lasciviously.

He scooped her up like she weighed nothing, cupping an ass cheek in each hand. She wrapped her legs around his waist, ankles crossing at the base of his spine and arms encircling his neck.

"That was… something," she laughed almost mockingly, wriggling her ass as she found her balance on his palms. "Didn't know you had those kind of moves in you, Amaro."

He cocked a brow, a small smile tugging at his lips. He then leaned forward and whispered, "You're going to quit being such a smart ass when I'm through fucking you."

"Prove it."

Nick slowly lowered her down on to his cock, stretching her walls into a fullness that was simultaneously painful and satisfying. She buried her face into his neck, groaning into his hot skin at the discomfort that dissipated once he was settled all the way inside. He pressed light kisses on her shoulder as he slowly rolled his hips underneath her.

She instinctively bucked with a need for more.

That was his cue. "You ready?"

"Yeah. Make your move."

"Hold on tight."

Pulling out and allowing the tip to brush against her lower lips, he thrust back in roughly. Amanda took heed of his warning and held on tight as he bounced her up and down, slamming into her in fast and deep strokes that awakened every nerve she didn't even know she had.

Skin to skin, their bodies melded into one, arms and legs tangled with the sheets. His hands on her ass worked as they lifted her up and dropped her down on his dick over and over again, each time impaling her with every hard inch of him. He buried himself in her tight heat, growing slicker with every guttural moan and breathless whimper that hung in the thick air.

"Don't stop," she rasped as his cock continued to plough into her. He took her to new heights. And she wanted to push it even further and see what lengths her body could withstand.

He kissed her, tongue sliding into her mouth in time with a set of particularly deep thrusts. She moaned into his kiss and cried out God's name against his lips. It must've ignited something in him, because he took her by the hips and drove hard into her until he was balls deep, grinding into her. The glaze in his eyes was completely feral and the grunts he released were absolute caveman, and it turned her on like nothing else.

"I've been hard for you all night," he groaned into her ear, one hand sliding to her front. "Even when you piss me off, all I want to do is fuck you."

Amanda gasped, her body free-falling over the edge of orgasm. She clawed at him as her body was electrified with a rush so intense she thought she would black out. Every ounce of strength was drawn from her body as he applied a firm pressure to her clit and continued to plunge inside her, stroke after stroke, until he joined her. He buried his head on the crook of her neck, muffling the low moan that accompanied his release.

Heavy breaths laid between them as they rested back down on the bed. She was on top of him, his arms wrapped around her waist, keeping their bodies still connected at the hip. She propped her head on his chest, inhaling the scent of his cologne mingled with the musk of their sweat and sex. If she had known riling him up could lead to the most physically gratifying angry fuck of her life, then she would have jumped his bones a long time ago.

When their heartbeats had relaxed, Nick pulled away and laid on his side, his elbow propped up on the bed. "So… Did I prove it?"

"Prove what?" She scrunched her face, brows knitted and mouth twisted into a frown. He tilted his head in the direction of her lower half; the recognition immediately present in the expression on her face. "Oh… that." She shrugged her shoulders, earning a disappointed look from him. "It was a good fuck, don't get me wrong. But it's going to take a lot more than that to stop me from being a smart ass."

He draped a leg over her hip and pulled her back flush against his chest. He breathed down the side of her neck, as the tips of his fingers lightly skimmed down her curves. She sighed as she felt his hands brush softly against the sore and tender skin between her legs. Between his fingers, he lightly pinched where she was most sensitive, earning a muffled moan as she clamped down on her lip.

"Then, I guess, I'm just going to have to try harder."


	11. Afterglow

**AN:** _It's been a while. But what's new? I feel like this very spaced apart updating has become a regular thing, and I don't like it. But there's really not much I can do. If you follow me on twitter you'll know that I'm in nursing school, and this semester is the shit-hits-the-fan semester. I have 9, 12-hour long days with a crazy amount of readings to worry about when I get home. This doesn't leave much time to write, which sucks because I'm bursting at the seams wanting to tell this story. :(_

 _Thank you for the reviews on chapter 10, the theories on who you guys think is involved, and all the pleas for more smut (lol). P.S. I love it when you tell me that I capture their characterization on the show and translate it over to this fanfic context. Seriously the highest compliment any fanfic writer could receive - so thanks for that :*_

* * *

 **Hush**

 **11\. Afterglow**

* * *

 _Tap._

Consciousness glimpsed past the velvet curtains of her dream. One moment, she was on a cloud against the backdrop of an endless blue sky. Her ear pressed on a man's chest to listen to the drumbeat of his heart; his fingers threaded through her silken strands like he was playing a harp. The heavenly symphony sang in the midst of waves crashing on the rocks, seagulls in flight, and a gentle rap on a door.

 _Tap._

Wakefulness pulled the curtains, letting in the light of reality. That cloud in the sky transformed into a jungle of blankets and sheets. Her mouth pressed onto a pillow to stifle a scream that dared to break free; his hips bucked with urgency and his fingers coiled a fist around her hair. The heavenly sighs that slipped from kiss-swollen lips sang in the midst of explosions in the sky and a gentle rap on the door.

 _Tap._

Her lids fluttered open, absorbing her surroundings lit by the morning sun. Above her, the wood beams and vaulted ceiling were the same ones she had woken up to for two weeks now. Not much had changed, except for the naked man asleep beside her. Nick was on his stomach, one arm slung over her waist so he could pull her close and bury his nose in the crook of her neck. There was a calm about him she didn't want to interrupt, but she knew, eventually, she would have to part ways with the warmth he provided.

 _Tap._

Amanda slipped under his arm and softly planted her feet on the ground, looking over her shoulder to check if he was still asleep. He simply groaned, mouth turning down into a frown, as he reached blindly for a pillow to embrace. Throwing Nick's shirt over her shoulders, she secured the misaligned buttons as she bound down the stairs.

 _Tap._

With one hand on the doorknob and the other smoothing down the bird's nest on her head, she pulled the door open to see the owner of the house, Phillip Huxley.

"Good morning," he greeted. His morning-person expression quickly faded as he took note of her disheveled appearance, a bright red flush tinting his neck to the tips of his ears. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you."

"It's ok. Don't worry about it. I probably should've been up hours ago anyway," she assured him with a smile. Phillip laughed and coughed nervously as he tried to avert his eyes, looking at anything but the woman he was speaking to. Noticing his demeanor, Amanda looked down at the dress shirt that hung loosely over her body. Its top buttons were undone, exposing her cleavage, and its hem fell a few inches above her knees. "God, I'm sorry. I must look like a mess."

"No, no. Y-you look fine. Great, actually."

He blinked a couple of times and adjusted his glasses. There was a timidity about his mannerisms that may have been adorable on a young boy, but it came off strange in a man of his age. Flustered, he began to ramble about his and his wife's plan to visit a colleague up in Connecticut. They were supposed to drive up for the Fourth of July weekend, but decided last-minute to cancel when Grace received an unexpected invitation to a gala in the city.

"So you and Grace had a night out on the town?"

Phillip shook his head. "My wife did. I stayed here and managed to avoid it." He leaned in closer and pretended to whisper, "Between you and me, I never enjoy myself at those things."

"I know, sometimes it's just nice to curl up in bed and watch a movie…" she trailed off, realizing instantly that it was Amanda Rollins agreeing with the sentiment. Amanda Marsden, the socialite, would have said something different. "But sometimes it just feels so energizing being around people."

He shrugged. "Quite the opposite, actually. I've always been an introvert so being surrounded by people expends my energy. I suppose that's why Gracie and I make for a good pair; we balance each other out… Although, both you and Nicolas seem to enjoy meeting new people, and you seem to make it work."

"Yeah, I guess." She wasn't really sure what to say in response. Sure, he was a neurosurgeon but he was no psychiatrist trained to evaluate the nature of her pseudo-marriage.

She was also getting a little impatient that he still hadn't told her his reason for knocking at their door at seven in the morning. Instead, he had stood at the doorstep and tried (and failed) to stave off from intermittently staring at her. His inner conflict was so manifest in his features; it only served to make Amanda feel more uncomfortable. His eyes fixed on a spot below her collar, and she felt immediately self-conscious, remembering how Nick had sucked on that sensitive spot on her skin.

She clutched the fabric of Nick's shirt and pulled it a little higher over her chest.

"Anyway, I stopped by hoping to speak with Nicolas. He expressed an interest in accompanying me to the vintage car auction in West Egg. I was planning to leave in an hour, so if you could pass the message along, I would appreciate it."

"Of course. Not a problem."

"Brilliant," Phillip said, his pearly whites beaming. He started to take a step back when he stopped himself, his arm reaching out to rest on the doorframe. "Before I go, there's something I must tell you."

"What is it?"

"I understand that you and your husband are both adults, and I can't supervise what you do here while you're on vacation," he began slowly, choosing his words with care. He pursed his lips and looked intently at her eyes. "You seem like two good people in a stable marriage, and I'd hate for that to change."

She furrowed her brows. "Phillip, what exactly are you trying to say?"

"I hope you'd be more cautious of associating with the likes Leo Fiorentino." His hand pushed against the doorframe so he stood straight and tall, the sun shining behind his body to cast a shadow over her. "And since we're already discussing this, I'd also advise you to avoid the Walkers."

* * *

Hushed voices interrupted his dream, rousing him from a cozy slumber that was essential after the previous night's exertions. He groaned as he stretched across the bed, arms and legs out like Da Vinci's Vitruvian man. He was never really a morning person, only forced to be one by fatherhood and the job; so if he didn't have to, he preferred to sleep in. But what he liked more than sleeping in was having a companion with him in bed. He just liked the warmth and softness of a woman's body, the fragrance of her hair, and the certainty he wasn't alone.

His ears picked up on her Southern twang and he opened his eyes. Rolling out of bed and slipping on a pair of gym shorts, he dragged himself down the steps in time to see Amanda wave and shut the door at their early rising visitor.

"Mornin'"

Startled, she looked up to see him leaning against the stair railing. "Hey, you're up."

"Mhmmm…" he said, smirking when he noticed what she was wearing. "You steal my shirt?"

"Nope."

"Could've sworn I wore the same thing to a party last night."

She looked down at the light-blue button-up and smoothed down the wrinkles. Her legs were on display, one knee bent inward as if she were playing coy. "Hmmm… Bet I look better in it though."

Scoffing, he bounced off the last step and passed right by where she was standing. He tilted his head as his arm brushed upon the sleeve of his (new) favorite shirt. "Can't argue with that."

Nick headed for the kitchen to start a pot of coffee. He was tempted to turn around and see if he had the same effect on her as she had on him. When he woke up that morning, and the first thing he saw was her body in his clothes, he had to mentally restrain himself from kissing her and having his way with her right then and there.

He readjusted the tent in his shorts before he poured the ground coffee into the filter. As he filled the machine with water, Amanda updated him on Phillip's unexpected visit that morning. She was on her computer as she told him about the older couple's cancelled trip to Connecticut. After telling him about the ominous warning about hanging around the likes of Fiorentino and the Walkers, she passed Phillip's invitation to go to the car auction.

Reappearing from the kitchen with two cups of coffee in hand, Nick walked toward the dining table. "I'd rather not go, and just stay in," he said as he set down one mug beside her laptop. "With you."

"That sounds nice and all, Casanova, but you should go." Amanda picked up the mug and brought it close to her lips. She blew on the liquid to cool it down before she took a tentative sip. "Those warnings mean something. Phillip has lived here all his life and I'm sure he knows more than he's letting on. Maybe you can find out what exactly he meant by it if you continue to act like this son he never had."

She went to the counter, where she added two heaping spoonfuls of sugar into her coffee.

"All right. Fine." Nick sighed. "What time did he say we were leaving?"

She skirted right past him, the mug pressed against her lips. "An hour, I think."

"Good," he said, an impish smile spreading across his face, as he relieved her hands of the mug and set it down on her makeshift workspace. He closed her laptop and pushed her belongings aside, making room for her when he cornered her against the table. Her ass sat on the edge, legs spread slightly apart for him to stand in between. "There's still enough time for breakfast."

Amanda released a mocking laugh as she playfully tried to push him off. He wrapped his fingers around her wrist and raised a brow in question. He could tell by the way her cheeks flushed and the way her legs parted a little more that she wanted this. But he wanted to hear it from her. Cupping her chin, he bent lower and ghosted his lips over hers.

She leaned forward to capture him in a kiss, but he withdrew and deprived her of the contact. His eyes penetrated hers with an intensity that electrified every nerve of his body, sending his brain in a whirlwind of lust. He trailed his finger down her jaw, the side of her neck, and below the collar of the shirt. Forming beneath her once-immaculate skin, a soft purple bruise began to appear below her throat.

He lowered his head and brushed his lips over the spot, feeling her chest arch toward him. Continuing down her chest as his fingers unbuttoned the shirt, he peppered kisses down her sternum, skipping the breasts he had laved and adored only hours earlier.

Amanda's nails dug into the table as she stretched her torso out, the shirt slipping down one shoulder. She watched with lidded eyes as he continued his descent. His mouth was leaving a path of desire that could only culminate in that place of aching need between her legs. And despite her breathless pleas of consent, Nick took his sweet time, using his tongue to sweep over the juncture between her hip and inner thigh.

Looking up to assess her reaction, he smirked wickedly as her lips parted with impatient need. His nose skimmed over her mound, inhaling the honeyed scent of her arousal. And as his mouth curved and locked over her center, her hands gripped tightly on the back of his head and her feet lifted off the ground.

* * *

"Un cafecito is different because you sweeten it with sugar while the espresso is pulled." Nick was breaking down the finer points of Cuban coffee and trying to convince her it was objectively better than any swill she'd find at the nearest Dunkin Donuts. Until she could actually taste 'un cafecito', she wasn't just going to slight her beloved breakfast blend.

The undercover partners sat at a local coffee shop in the relaxed downtown district of Southampton. They still had more information to pursue with regard to the money laundering lead. Stan's gift shop was only one of many in town, and further investigation had directed them to another business with accounts that didn't quite add up. The owner, Derek Rankin, was ready to sell his commercial space in 2010 when a sudden influx of $100,000 saved his business from going under. The money was sourced back to a family trust. But Derek came from generations of lobster fishermen and blue collar workers; there was never any explanation for the conveniently-timed hundred grand appearing in his account.

The once-modest coffee shop serving two different kinds of freshly baked muffins had now been replaced by a café-slash-bistro boasting lattes and cappuccinos. By the register, a display case featured a variety of French pastries, miniature sandwiches, and gluten-free snacks. Above the high counters sat chrome and copper espresso machines imported from Italy. Baristas in wine-colored aprons carefully steamed jugs of organic milk to be poured over ethically sourced espresso.

Amanda had already had her third dose of caffeine for the day, waking up at the crack of daybreak to get on her computer to make sense of the information Nick gathered from Phillip. While the two men were at the car auction, Nick had managed to slip a few questions about certain names in their elite circle.

Leo's name had come up as Phillip expressed his distrust for the city transplant and artful dodger. He had no faith in the reformation of a man who was embroiled in drug trafficking, and who used his money and notoriety to play the courts in his favor. Phillip wasn't also oblivious to the fact that Leo was a degenerate who hired college students to be escorts under the guise of interning for his tech companies.

When Amanda asked Nick about the man-to-man discussion, he mentioned that Phillip made a comment that unsettled him. It wasn't so much the literal words, but the warning look that accompanied what he said. "If I had a daughter, I wouldn't want her anywhere near Leo."

As far as his thoughts on the Walkers were concerned, Phillip considered them to be the epitome of everything that was sick in their community. They were a disease, multiplying their hate and deceit like a malignant cancer. Phillip didn't trust Owen, a former financial consultant who turned his Wall Street earnings into a real estate empire. His memory hadn't failed him as Phillip recounted how Owen had led many of their common friends to bad investments and bankruptcy. Owen was a snake, notorious for pulling underhanded moves and engaging in insider training to keep his finances afloat. Truth was, the Walkers were broke just before the recession in 2008, but instead of going on a downturn with the rest of the country, they somehow magically reclaimed and tripled their net worth.

It didn't help their story that 2008 was the year the prostitution ring began to sink its hooks in Suffolk County.

The ding of the cash register brought her thoughts back to the present. Amanda licked the foam from her lips as she continued to listen to Nick act normal; meanwhile, she kept an eye out for the coffee shop owner. He was in the café only moments ago, until a Latina woman in her mid-thirties had entered. Derek, then, left for the back room and had not returned since.

Nick brushed the back of his hand against hers as he cocked his head to the side, indicating Derek's return to the café. He stood by the woman's table and pulled out a yellow envelope from the deep pocket of his apron; it was the same size and color as the one Stan had obtained the night of the town meeting. He set down a to-go cup in front of her and slipped the envelope across the table, before the woman tucked it into her purse.

Without exchanging any words, they went their separate ways with the woman exiting the coffee shop in a few quick strides. Amanda looked through the glass windows to see her standing outside, her back against the store sign. She rifled through the contents of her purse before she pulled out a box of cigarettes. Her eyes searched the street, as if paranoid that she was being watched; and, to be fair, her fears were completely warranted considering there were two pairs of eyes trained on her. Plucking a cigarette, her shaky fingers lit one end and she took a long drag.

Before she was halfway through her smoke, the woman hopped into a maroon mini-van and headed for a suburban neighborhood a few miles from the downtown core. Nick and Amanda got into their car and trailed her, passing by rows of two-story colonial homes with large trees on front yards and chalk drawings brightening the sidewalks.

The woman slowed down as she approached a modest-sized home with blue shutters and gardenia bushes out front. Turning to the driveway, she parked her car beside a black SUV marked with a decal of the Suffolk County Police Department.

Amanda felt her breath hitch in her throat.

As soon as the woman got out of her car, the screen door opened and out stepped Sheriff Ben Finch. Crossing through the front lawn, he stopped her in her tracks, cornering her against the side of the van. He towered over her as he talked down to her; of course, neither Nick nor Amanda could hear what he was saying but the terror in her face was unmistakable.

Ben held his hand out and waited until she retrieved the envelope, setting it down on his open palm. She looked up at him, almost pleading. And Amanda swore she could see her mouth the words, "Please stop."

He gripped her by her arm, yanking her forward and forcing her inside. Looking over his shoulder and around their quiet street, Ben missed the Range Rover parked beside the house around the corner. Satisfied with the notion that no one had witnessed him manhandle the woman, he slammed the door behind him.

* * *

Upon returning to the cabin, the two detectives got started on looking for whatever they could find on Ben Finch and his second wife, Teresa Romero.

One phone call to a buddy who worked in ICE was all it took to confirm Teresa was an illegal immigrant, who only acquired her citizenship months after marrying her much older husband. Searching for information about Ben Finch proved to be more challenging, particularly when they were on the hunt for domestic violence reports on the NYPD database.

Nick's stomach grumbled; the thought of food abandoned as he focused on the search. But they kept hitting nothing but roadblocks as they found zero evidence of wrongdoing.

"Wait, I got something." Amanda exclaimed as she pointed to the screen of her computer. She clicked a few more links that brought her to a dead page. "He did have a record, but it says right here that it's been expunged. It's not showing me who signed off on it."

Nick scrolled up his own screen and looked at a picture of Ben Finch at a sergeant's ceremony in 2001. "So Finch retired from the NYPD as a sergeant, and he has a criminal record we no longer have access to…" he began as he switched tabs and unearthed the contact information of the sheriff's former precinct. "His captain is still working at the 2-2. If someone who was working under his supervision had a record, then he would have known what the charges were and why they were expunged."

There was something unnervingly suspicious about an esteemed sergeant leaving a more profitable position with better benefits for a stint playing town sheriff at a sleepy town.

While Amanda used her tech skills to find the cache of the page she was trying to access, Nick used his connections to achieve the same ends. Picking up his phone, he dialed Olivia.

He wasn't surprised to find that she was still at the precinct, working on a fresh stack of DD-5s while answering every (prank) call on a tip line about a missing working girl. Nick asked for her discretion when he told her what they had discovered in relation to their money laundering lead, and how they suspected the local police might have been involved in the trafficking scandal.

"I need your help finding the real reason why Finch left his job. Amanda and I think his CO might've pulled a favor for him.

"I don't know. We're short-staffed and we're swamped with cases… tourist season, you know?" Olivia said on the other line. After a short pause, she resigned as she added, "But I'll get on it as soon as I can."

"Thanks, Liv. I owe you one."

"Don't worry about it," she said. "So, how are things going?"

"The investigation is moving slow, but I think this lead we have is going to pick up the momentum. Finch is a big player in this town and we think he can lead us to the guy running the operation."

Nick wasn't planning on telling her about the other lead they were chasing, since he promised Amanda he wouldn't tell a soul. Even if he trusted Olivia wouldn't report back to their superiors, he knew she would question the changed nature of their assignment. She would've probably talked him out of following through with this plan of joining a sex club and dismantling the prostitution ring from within.

And, chances are, she would've been right.

"No, let me rephrase," Olivia said after a brief moment of silence. "How are things going with you and Amanda?"

"Uh… Fine, I guess." He glanced behind him to see the blonde absorbed by whatever code she was reading. He took a couple of steps away from her and faced the window, barely whispering when he added, "I feel like we're finally coming around to working together."

"I'd say so."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

He heard a shuffling on the other line as Olivia got up and excused herself. There was a thud of metal followed by the echo of her voice in the precinct stairwell. "I have your alter egos on Google Alerts," she said. "I saw the picture from The Society Pages."

 _Shit_ , he inwardly cursed. How was he supposed to explain this to her?

"Wait, is Munch still leaving cryptic notes on the leftovers in the office fridge?" Nick asked as he slid toward the door, checking to see if Amanda was eavesdropping on the conversation. When she appeared to be distracted, he stepped out onto the deck and exhaled.

"You're asking for updates on Munch's passive aggressive Post-it notes?" Olivia asked incredulously. "Hold on a sec. Why are you changing the subject?"

"Amanda was in the room," he admitted, his face feeling hot even if Olivia wasn't there in person to cross-examine him. "What do you want me to say? She's playing my wife and part of the job is making this marriage look convincing."

"Well, you almost had me convinced," Olivia teased. "Just be careful, ok? I know I shouldn't have to remind you, but you know better than to get personally involved with someone you work with."

"Yes, mom," he mocked, rolling his eyes. "You have nothing to worry about."

It was a bold-faced lie. Not only had he started developing feelings for this woman, he had acted on it on more than one occasion. It was as if they were making up for lost time - those first two weeks they ignored their impulses. Sex had always been a huge part in his relationships, but with the dissolution of his marriage to Maria, it had been so long since he remembered feeling this _insatiable_.

"Is there anything else you need me to do?" Olivia asked, pulling him from thoughts of where and when he had taken Amanda. So far, the bed, the dining table, and up against the door had already been realized. But he didn't want that exploration of their quaint cabin to end; there was still the tub, the kitchen counter, the outdoor shower… "Nick?"

"Yeah? Sorry. I –" He stopped to take a grounding breath, staring out at the black tides catching the moonlight. "I need you to do me one more favor. I need you to look into the internship program at Leo Fiorentino's tech firms."

It was something that he couldn't keep off his mind, not since the night of the yacht party. He knew Amanda told him to let it go, because following the lead could be unfavorable to achieving the objective of their assignment. He agreed; the trafficking ring was much bigger than a group of young women consenting to being passed around by sleazy, old men. But he was at a fork in the road, and he just hoped the different paths he and Amanda were taking would eventually lead them back to the same end goal.

He just couldn't stand aside and wait until he was out of UC before he took action.

He understood where Amanda was coming from. She saw Luisa and the other girls and she felt awful for the situation they were in, but she refused to pity them or strip them of their agency. In her words, if they wanted help, they would've asked for it. But Nick didn't see gray areas when it came to these things. At the first sign of a man laying his hands on a woman, that man was dead to him.

"Fiorentino, the drug lord?

"Yeah, but now he claims to be reformed." He scoffed. "Anyway, he brought these college girls to this party he threw on his boat. We found out they were hired to be escorts under the pretext of being interns. I just need you to be on the lookout… If there's anything you can do from your end to keep them out of harm's way, I'd appreciate it."

"Of course," she said as if it were a no-brainer. "But why aren't you telling Amanda?" she questioned. "If I were partnered up with you, I would want to know what you were doing."

"Who said I wasn't telling her?"

"Nick." There's a warning tone in her voice, and he imagined her eyes narrowing in that moment.

"She doesn't think it's a good idea to follow up on these girls because she thinks it's going to raise suspicion. But it's not like it has a direct impact on our assignment."

They were a different set of girls – both in need of (his) help.

It could be traced back to his own trauma. For Nick, he couldn't stand with his hands tied behind his back and not protect a woman in distress. As soon as he was old enough to speak up and fight back, it became his responsibility to defend his mother. A man using his strength and his warped sense of power to physically and emotionally hurt a woman was completely unacceptable. There was no way he could continue to play nice with Leo and his sick friends, knowing in the back of his mind that Luisa and those five other girls were still being raped.

He had to do it. In his mind, he had no other choice.

"Nick, you know I'll always have your back," Olivia said, her voice soft and sympathetic. "But you need to realize that once she catches on to you lying, she's not going to be honest with you either. Trust is important here."

For a second, he thought back to those early days when she kept her distance and withheld information from him. He still had a feeling there were details about this case that she was keeping to herself; so the thought of knowing something she didn't know almost felt like he was leveling the playing field. But as soon as that spark of revenge flickered within him, it had faded as he realized Olivia was right about trust. Nick wasn't evening the score, by any means. He was digging ditches and making it impossible for either one of them to gain traction.

He was building their partnership on a house of lies, setting themselves up for an imminent collapse.


	12. Exhibit

**AN:** _Hello. Before I begin, I want to say a massive thank you to the people who reviewed. Seeing that new message in my inbox really makes my day and makes writing so much more worthwhile. So, please, if you're reading please review. Even if it's constructive criticism. I promise I won't call you a troll. :)_

* * *

 **Hush**

 **12\. Exhibit**

* * *

Seven days and seven nights.

In that space of time, Nick and Amanda set aside their alter egos to return to their true detective forms. They pursued the money laundering lead, each dedicating a day to follow local business owners meet in classified locations with potential partners. They imagined the exchange of illicit money, unscrupulous deals in a back alley by some dumpster, a loaded gun and a loose finger on the trigger. _Not_ an hour and a half's drive outside of town to watch a coffee shop owner pick up bulk toilet paper from a wholesale supplier.

Watching paint dry would've been a more worthwhile activity.

But those days weren't all a waste. It had been a week since the Fourth of July party. A week since that seismic shift that would forever change the course of their partnership.

One could argue that they used that time to rehearse their roles as husband and wife. So it began, the process of learning what each other liked. Nick familiarized himself with the sensitive spot behind her ear. He reveled in her breathless gasp every time his touch skimmed the back of her knees. And Amanda wasn't far behind either. There were things she could do with her mouth that he had never quite experienced; and she was so receptive to the way his hips bucked and the way his grip tightened around her hair. It was seven days and seven nights of satiating each other's appetite - a sinful cycle of hunger and feasting, hunger and feasting….

Nick felt it reawaken something inside him, and he could tell that he wasn't alone in this. She reacted to him when he made the first move, but she also didn't shy away from initiating. She was the kind of woman who knew what she wanted in bed, which was more than he could say for his ex. Not that sleeping with Maria was bad; it was just different. It was all intimacy and making love, whereas with Amanda, it was raw and powerful, frenzied and rough. With Maria, it was about fulfilling the conventions of a marriage. With Amanda, it was about reckless abandonment and an animalistic desire to mark every corner of their loveshack. Morning, noon, and night, their bodies intertwined.

Resting his cheek on the pillow, he found her lying on her back asleep. The blanket draped over the smooth plane of her stomach and stopped at the swell of her breasts. He was so lost in this hypnotic worship of her body that he failed to notice the first few vibrations of his cell phone. It rattled against the nightstand, the screen blinking to alert a new call.

With the stealth of a ninja, Nick shifted off the bed and crept toward the moonlight seeping through the French doors. Slowly, he turned the knob and stepped out onto the balcony, feeling the evening air envelop his naked form.

"Olivia?"

"Nick, hey, sorry to wake you -"

"- You didn't," he started, but stopped himself before he admitted he was only awake because he was deep in thought about Amanda. "What's going on?"

"I looked into your guy. You were right; there aren't any checks on Ben Finch - no warrants, active restraining orders, probation records, and not even a single demerit on his driving record."

"Thanks for looking into it," Nick sighed and squeezed the nape of his neck. "But that just puts us back to square one."

"Not so fast," Olivia said, her voice spiked with the possibility of a push in the right direction. "I spoke to a woman who works security for a private agency in Jersey. She was a former colleague of Ben's up until 2007, when she filed a sexual harassment claim against him."

"No kiddin'?"

"Their captain advised them to settle it privately without getting 1-PP involved. And they did… well, until a couple months later at a staff Christmas party. Ben was drunk and he made a pass at her. When she denied him, he got angry and forced her against the wall in an empty stairwell. He would've raped her had he not been scared off by the voices of two co-workers from a few floors up."

Nick's hand instinctively coiled into a fist, his jaw clenching at the thought of Ben Finch still having a badge. There wasn't a more bitter irony than a corrupt cop.

"The woman filed another complaint, hoping to take him to civil court. But she wasn't expecting for their captain to claim that Ben was with him at his office the time the attack took place; thereby, solidifying his alibi."

He exhaled deeply to calm himself. If Ben wasn't already doing a _bang-up_ job representing police officers, here was his captain to hammer the final nail in that coffin. "How is she?" he asked. "What was she like when you spoke with her?"

"A little shaken up, but she said even if she didn't get the justice she hoped for, she still got some payback," Olivia said. "Before she left the NYPD, she made sure the rumors and accusations stuck with Ben. He was only able to work in his precinct for about four months before the brass advised a transfer to another county. That's how he got the job at Suffolk PD."

That explained for the backsliding career move, and his captain covering for him would've likely explained for the clean record. Unfortunately, this wasn't the first case Nick was hearing of records being expunged on account of friendships within the force.

"Did you find anything on DV?" Nick asked, thinking back to that day they followed his wife home.

"Domestic violence?" He could hear Olivia clicking through the options on her computer. "He and his wife divorced in 2008 due to irreconcilable differences." That didn't give much away. 'Irreconcilable differences' was one of those catch-all phrases that encapsulated the dissolution of a marriage without having to rehash all the painful details. It was the same reason he and Maria used in their divorce proceedings, but the difference was he had never laid a hand on his wife.

"Wait," Olivia added. "He was in a civil union before… Nineteen and a fresh recruit in the Atlanta Police Academy program. They were getting DV calls from his mother's house, where he lived in a basement apartment with his pregnant girlfriend. Nothing came of it though. But six months after the first 911 call, the girl went back to her hometown without her boyfriend… and without her baby."

* * *

High tides and a cool breeze set the summer morning apart from the rest. Nick sat out on the deck with his coffee, appreciating the seasonal oddity of gray skies and a brewing thunderstorm. It was scheduled to pour in less than an hour and he hoped Amanda would be back from her run by then.

Although, the idea of helping her out of her wet clothes was highly tempting.

Before the male one-track mind took control of his body, he heard the light footsteps of Nikes on sodden earth. He glanced over his shoulder and smiled as. Amanda joined him from her morning jog, carrying a roll of The Society Pages in her hand. She returned the smile as she slowed down and caught her breath.

Throwing the paper on top of the table, it uncoiled to reveal a square envelope with a red seal. Nick didn't think much of it as his eyes were settled on the woman who shared his bed. She was dressed in black leggings that revealed her shapely legs, a loose tank that dipped low enough to reveal a glimpse of a hot pink sports bra. He didn't take her for someone who liked pink; but the hint of it underneath her top was like an invitation to learn an intimate secret.

Amanda walked around the table and began to pull a chair, but Nick wrapped his arm around her waist and hooked her onto his lap.

"Nick!" she shrieked, squirming away from him. "I'm sweaty and gross."

"Don't care," he groaned, burrowing his face in her neck and planting soft kisses on her damp skin. She was still squirming in his hold, but it was now a response to the ticklish sensation of his lips and his feather-light touch on her waist. His tongue slipped out to brush against the shell of her ear, his teeth nibbling on her earlobe. "C'mere."

"Hey…" Amanda sighed as her hands trailed up his chest, basking in the attention his mouth was delivering to her body. "Easy…" Placing a little more pressure on his chest, she pushed against him and watched as his bottom lip jutted out and his eyes widened in confusion. "I got something to show you," she rasped, startled that his naughty act had been enough to steal the breath from her lungs.

Without losing the stare of his cinnamon eyes, she reached behind her to feel for the stiff envelope. She dangled it in front of his face to show the seal - an intricate 'W' pressed in crimson wax.

"What is it?"

She ripped the seal and pulled out a black card decorated in metallic gold ink. It was an invitation to a local artist's exhibit two days away. Amanda read the description of the event aloud, "An inquiry into post-modernist expression of the naturalistic state." She snorted and tossed the invitation on the table. "I have no idea what any of that means."

"Hey, don't look at me," Nick said, raising his hands in surrender.

Sighing, Amanda matched her palms with his and led them back to her waist. She glared at him - an unspoken warning that he could touch but he couldn't tickle. Shifting on his lap, she pulled one leg over so she could straddle him. His throat bobbed as he felt himself harden at the proximity separated only by thin swatches of fabric. Her skin was cool to the touch but it warmed as his fingers ascended her torso to the elastic band of her sports bra. He teased under the material with the tips of his fingers, mesmerized as her lids fluttered shut like moth wings circling a flame. The elastic snapped lightly against her skin as he relinquished contact, palms rising to skim over the surge of her breasts. In her impatience, she crushed into his hold and captured his lips in a torrid kiss.

And even when the first drizzle of rain grew into a downpour, Nick and Amanda never parted until they were drained of every last drop.

* * *

"Mmm… yours tastes better."

Nick glanced down at his pistacchio gelato and then at Amanda, who was ignoring her choice of chocolate-hazelnut. He tilted the cone in her direction and allowed her to taste the ice cream for a second time, but she surprised him when she took a large bite. The crunch of the waffle cone signalled his brows to furrow together in mock anger.

"Ok, I said you could try some of mine; I didn't say you could finish all of it."

They were walking down the boardwalk under the wide open sky, clear and bright after yesterday's storm. The lobster catch was always better right after the rain, so the fishing dock was lined up with boats loading up supplies and blowing their horns. People came out in droves to walk and bike along the path, making the most of the weather after being forced indoors.

Amanda pulled him by the crook of his elbow as she stuck her tongue out, trying to get another lick.

"No." Nick pouted like a petulant child. "My ice cream."

"I'll trade ya."

"No thanks."

She raised a brow and bit down on her bottom lip. "I haven't even told you what I'm willing to trade."

He stared at her in awe, falling head over heels into the palm of her hand. She seized him and he didn't give a damn if she ever released him because he had no plans of going anywhere.

She got on the tips of her toes as her mouth turned up into a naughty smirk, ready to whisper in his ear.

But his phone rang.

"Hold that thought," he said, immediately regretting his words and actions as he reached into his back pocket to check the name of the caller. "It's Fin."

She nodded, taking a step back and pointing to a nearby bench. Nick mouthed a 'sorry' before he answered the call, "Fin, this better be good."

"Am I interrupting something?"

"Uh, no." Nick cleared his throat. "What's up?"

There was a lull on the other line as Fin wasn't totally convinced by his answer and the quick change of topic. But he was never one to pry, and he figured the younger detective wouldn't have told him anyway. "Man, I got that text you were waiting for."

Nick wanted to pump his fist in the air and celebrate. It was a small victory, and he wasn't even sure if it meant anything, but he was hoping this information would turn out to be the ace up his sleeve.

Flashback to Leo's yacht party, Nick was in the smoking room with some of the men. The entire time, he was observant of the hushed bickering between Owen Walker and Doug Livingston. He couldn't hear them very well from where he was standing, but he tired to read their lips and noted the words 'access' and 'girls'. Walking closer, Nick poured himself a drink from the liquor cabinet and listened to the rise in Doug's voice as he hounded the other man for a number. Owen, then, proceeded to call him an idiot for misplacing and forgetting it. But after more prodding, Owen finally resigned and said he would forward him the number later that evening.

Nick knew it was a risky move with all the eyes in the room, but he took security in the fact that most of them were either drunk or high. While Owen was on the leather couch with one of Leo's interns on his lap, Nick found the man's sport coat draped on a chair by the door. He swiped the phone from the pocket and searched through the contacts for Doug's phone number, erasing the existing contact information and redirecting it to the number of a burner phone he left in the second drawer of his office desk.

After slipping the phone back into the jacket pocket without any witnesses, Nick asked Fin to keep an eye on the burner phone and let him know if a message was received.

"Dude came through," he said. "I'll forward it to you. Maybe you can make sense of it, 'cause all it says is 3074-B 646-7595."

Nick pondered the meaning of the numbers as Fin told him he had already tried to call the second number, but it was no longer in use. It had a Manhattan area code so it was slightly reassuring that the scope of the prostitution ring hadn't expanded further out of state.

"First set of numbers could be an apartment."

"Or a locker," Fin suggested. There was noise coming from the other end, and he could hear Fin shushing someone before he spoke again, "... Uh, by the way, how's the wife?"

"She's uh -" He turned around to see the unoccupied bench and Amanda standing a few feet away; she was talking to Carter Baines, the firefighter from the town meeting. "- she's not my wife, but nice try."

He could hear Munch laughing in the background.

"Am I on speaker phone?"

"Hey kid," Munch said as he dropped in uninvited. That was Nick's cue to end the call. Well, _that_ and the possessive urge to interrupt Amanda's conversation with the caveman. "Are you playing nice with Detective Rollins?"

Fin chuckled. "You should be asking her. The day she showed up, she looked like she was going to bust a cap in his ass!"

"Funny, guys," Nick said sarcastically. "Look, I gotta go. Thanks for all the help with the phone."

As soon as he dropped the call, he stalked over to Amanda and Carter, just in time to hear the tail end of their exchange.

"The pub down the street is doing half-price shots. What do you say, sweetheart?"

Amanda crossed her arms over her chest. "I'm married."

"Aw, come on. I heard you been hangin' around Mr. Fiorentino's crowd. Don't think a wedding ring ain't ever stop your kind of woman before."

"You heard wrong."

Although she looked like she could handle herself, Nick's jealousy and protective instinct merged into one hasty ball of rage that needed to step in and make itself known. Carter plastered a crooked smile and attempted to close the gap between the two of them. Steps away from the scene, Nick felt that all too familiar slip of control over his emotions, like all he could see were the sparks and smoke emitted by his short fuse.

His fingers curled against the palm of his hand, ready to strike a face only a fist could love.

But Amanda took a step back and hovered her palm over Carter's chest to stop him. She was about to tell him off when she felt Nick's arm drape over her shoulder.

"Everything all right?" he asked.

Amanda was caught off-guard as she stammered, "Y-yeah. I was just waiting for your call to end… You ready to go?"

"Ready when you are." Nick smiled and hoped it was enough to ease some of the tension that gripped the muscles on her shoulders. He turned to the other man, cocking his head to the side and squinting his eyes. "I'm sorry, your name was -"

"- Carter," he completed with a grimace.

"Right." Nick snapped his fingers. "The dumbass who makes a pass at my wife when I'm standing right there." He gestured to the direction he came from, keenly aware of Carter's deepening scowl and the twitch in his jaw. Nick smirked as he felt the air from Amanda's chuckle graze over his skin. "Have a good one, bud."

Together, the couple turned on their heels and left Carter seething and staring them down. Amanda took the opportunity to sprinkle salt into his wounded ego, slipping her hand in the back pocket of her _husband's_ jeans and squeezing his ass for good measure.

* * *

 **July 13**

It was already dusk by the time Nick crawled from under the 1973 Ford Mustang. The sudden return under the fluorescent lights dazed him, and he blinked to see Phillip still sitting on the sidelines, dictating a how-to on car maintenance. Nick didn't mind being the only set of hands _actually_ working on the car; there was something gratifying about restoring it on his own.

The night of the art exhibit was upon them and while he would have preferred to hang out in the garage and tinker with wires and engines, he needed to get himself cleaned up if they wanted to arrive on time. He picked up his t-shirt from the bench and threw it over his shoulder, using the hem to wipe the sweat off his brow. Once he was through inspecting another potential improvement under the hood, he rushed back to the cabin, heading straight for the stairs to gather his change of clothes.

But Nick's feet rooted to the ground.

It was a case of déja vu. Amanda, clad in a dress that perilously hung from her shoulders, stood in front of a full-length mirror whilst holding up another dress over her body. She looked deep in thought, deciding on what to wear for the evening. She didn't even notice his intrusion until their gazes locked in their reflection. The shade of blue in her eyes swirled with indigo like the twilight beyond the open doors of the balcony.

Amanda hooked the second dress on the rail, then she readjusted the straps of the white one she barely had on. The back of the dress remained unzipped, but the skirt was tight, hugging and lifting every curve of her bottom.

Nick felt his cock strain against the roughness of his jeans. Thoughtlessly, he reached down to adjust himself and caught on as Amanda's stare drifted lower.

Her pink tongue traced over her lip like she couldn't wait to unwrap and taste him. That little stunt was all it took to uproot him from his position and close the gap between them. Standing behind her, he looked at the mirror as his fingers dipped below the straps of her dress, pulling them past her shoulders. He swept her hair to the side so he could plant searing kisses from her neck to the subtle slope of her jaw. His eyes flitted up to watch her restrain a moan as her delicate fingers coursed through the back of his head, urging him to continue his sensual study with his lips.

She tugged at his hair as his mouth sucked on that spot behind her ear. She hissed as she held the falling garment flush against her body. At the point her chest heaved for oxygen, Nick placed his hand over her heart, imploring her to loosen her grip.

The top fell to her hips, her breasts spilling into his waiting hands, caressing her flesh to the point of aching tenderness.

"I wanted to touch you like this the other night," Nick hummed against the curve of her shoulder. "You were standing here in that red dress… asking me to help you…" He groaned, his fingers tweaking stiff points while his mouth was drawing blood beneath the surface of her skin. "It was torture."

She arched into his touch and dug her nails deep against his skull. "I was trying to get to you," she confessed in a breathless rasp. "I knew I was playing with fire, but I did it anyway."

"So, you admit you were bad?"

"Maybe." She placed her hand over her stomach, drawing in as his fingers twisted and plucked with an absence of fragility. Sinking lower to her pubic bone, she was proving her sinfulness in her actions and it was driving him absolutely mad with desire. He swirled his tongue around the faint mark on her neck and brushed his thumbs lightly over her nipples, before he backed away completely. Removing any trace of his touch was his way of telling her that he wasn't convinced by her answer. And just by the way her body arched and trembled, he knew she was trying to keep the truth behind lock and key.

Amanda missed his touch the second his body withdrew, but she still had her own fingers to ease that longing between her legs. She skimmed lightly over her clit, craning her neck and sealing her eyes as she found a semblance of relief. She began to knead with more urgency, and didn't even stop when she felt Nick's jean-clad erection press against her ass.

"What about now?" He stared at their reflection and waited for Amanda to open her eyes.

She spun around and crashed her lips on his, tangling tongues and stealing the air right out from under him. Her teeth tugged on his bottom lip before she pulled away. "What do you want me to say, Nick?" she asked as her heart bounded loudly against her chest. "That I've been a _bad girl_?"

He swallowed hard.

"You get off on that shit?"

He shook his head. "That's not what I meant."

"Shame." She clicked her tongue against her teeth, her thumbs hooking into the band of his jeans to reel him in. "I could'a been if you wanted me to."

"Forget it." He began to twist around and call off the entire thing. He didn't like feeling embarrassed, and he especially didn't like feeling played.

Still, she had her hooks on him - literally and figuratively - and she tugged harder, carving into the hard planes of his body with her soft and smooth flesh. He ached to hold her, but the little that was left of his pride yelled at him to exercise some self-control. "Amanda."

"Relax," she murmured, kissing him a few times on the corner of his mouth until she finally locked with his lips. "I was just teasing."

She backed up until her back felt the edge of the dresser. She pushed on her hands to sit up on the four rows of drawers, letting her feet dangle off the floor. Crooking a finger, she motioned for him to come closer. When he was close enough, she peeled off his jeans and pushed them down to his knees with her foot. She palmed his hardness and felt him twitch in anticipation of skin-to-skin contact. His hands rested on the edge of the dresser and his head bowed low as his breaths became more ragged.

Amanda supported herself on his tense shoulders as she lifted her hips and slid off her panties, letting them hang off her left ankle. Keeping the dress bunched at her hips, she drew one leg to her chest. The position exposed her in the most vulnerably erotic way, her folds glistening in a layer of her arousal.

"Fuck me," she told him, closing her eyes and leaning her head back against the framed mirror above the dresser. "Don't tell me what you're about to do; just do it."

He licked his lips and studied the depth in the rise and fall of her chest. Her nipples were a deep rose, swollen from his fingers' earlier ministrations. He was tempted to let this last into the night, to take one bud into his mouth and let his tongue soothe the sting. But she asked him to proceed without caution, and he didn't want to fall short of those expectations.

"Oh G - God!" Her eyes shot open as the prayer cried out from the deepest recesses of her lungs.

Nick filled her to the hilt, his body slowly rocking to adjust to the tiny muscle spasms that clenched around his cock. She was so slick and so responsive that he ached to push, pull, and stretch her to her limits.

She rested her cheek on her knee, her head tilted to observe their reflection on the full-length mirror. "Keep going."

Listening to her plea, he drew his length until only the head was swathed in her entrance. He followed her gaze on their reflection as he entered her again fully, inch by inch, just as enraptured by the moving image of their sex. They were bearing witness to their own obscene act, pupils blowing out like ink blots from the indecency. But when it became too much and it threatened to release the coils before he was ready to let go, he searched for her kiss.

A claim on her lips to stake a claim on her heart.

* * *

They were late.

Too lost in their haze of lust to realize that time hadn't stopped for them. Skin slick against skin in a dirty duel when they should've been cleansed and clothed. Distracted by the rhythmic motions of each other's bodies when they were supposed to be driving to the gallery.

They considered not showing up. How much information pertinent to the case could they get from a stupid art exhibit anyway?

After Nick parked the car on a side street, Amanda looped her arm under his, both of them laughing like naughty school children playing hooky. What excuse were they going to use on the other guests? ' _Sorry, we're late but my husband was fucking me six ways to Sunday'_.

They headed toward the frosted glass doors of the gallery, pulling it open to step inside. Only a single bright spotlight was pointed to the door. Around them, four white walls were void of any art. In the center of the room, three thick columns cast long dark shadows.

"Uh… Where is everyone?" His voice echoed against the walls of the cavernous space. "Are you sure this was the right address?"

"Yeah, I'm sure," she replied with a tinge of annoyance. She took a few steps further into the room, stopping abruptly when her ears picked up on an unwelcome sound. She slowly glanced over her shoulder. "Nick, did you hear that?"

"Hear what?"

A piercing scream sliced right through the silence.

Before he could react to the imposing figure that crept in the shadows, her head disappeared under a bag, muffling her scream. "Amanda!" he cried, leaping toward her to stop the masked man from hauling her away. His fingers only caught air as he was forced to the ground. Someone behind him held him down with a firm grip on his wrists and a knee on the base of his spine. He lifted his head and caught the last glimpse of the white dress and golden hair dragged into the darkness.

Nick struggled in the hold, but his movements ceased as he felt a sharp prick on the surface of his neck.

The man grunted. "Move and I'm going to have to sedate you."

The needle scratched along his vein, causing Nick to hiss sharply. He wanted so badly to resist, but he knew he was more powerless unconscious than tied up. With Amanda's life at the foreground of every thought and every impulse to protect, he wasn't giving up on her; but he had to stop fighting.

Bag over his head.

 _Can't see._

Chokehold.

 _Can't breathe._


	13. Senses

**AN:** _Before I start, I think an apology is in order. I'm sorry for taking over a month to update. If you follow me on twitter (ianasea), you might know that I'm back in school full-time. It's been kicking my ass, so I needed to focus on studying as much as possible. I've missed writing though, which is why I procrastinated this past Sunday by writing chapter 13 of this fic. A kind guest reviewer also reminded me that I left chapter 12 at a cliffhanger, so it wasn't very nice of me to temporarily abandon this story at that point. Now, I'm back - sort of. I can't promise a quick update after this, but I'll try. I hope y'all understand._

 _Quick recap: in the last chapter, Nick and Amanda were headed to an art gallery and were surprised to see it was empty. Then, out of nowhere, they got bagged over their heads._

 _Please read & review. Thank you!_

* * *

 **Hush**

 **13\. Senses**

* * *

Amanda's first instinct was to fight back.

Blinded by the bag over her head, her senses were already hindered. Yet it didn't stop her from struggling as she swung her arms, catching nothing but air. Her elbow jerked back and collided with an abdomen. There was a grunt of pain. But before she could take the advantage and run toward the direction of Nick's fading voice, she felt a fist curl around both wrists. Her attacker held them behind her back in a vicious snap that tore at her shoulders. In that instant, her body froze.

The sharp intake of breath did nothing for her. It wasn't like the bag was tight around her neck, but it might as well have been. Her lungs fought for oxygen but all she could breathe in was the stale, recycled air that fueled her fear.

She stumbled in her steps as her attacker dragged her backwards. Hardly even noticing as the wood beneath her heels had turned into asphalt. The air whipped at her skin, causing goosebumps to rise. Voices grew louder and a diesel engine hummed somewhere in the background. Heavy hands patted down her body in search of a wire; and when he found nothing, she was pushed, chest forward, against a metal wall.

"She's feistier than the others," said her attacker as he loosened the grip around her wrists. Amanda tried to pull herself free. "Ay, hold on there." She heard a click and tried to wrestle out of it, but felt the familiar sharpness of a cable tie digging into her skin.

"Son of a bitch."

"What did you say, sweetheart? Sorry, your voice is a little muffled." The man laughed as he slapped hands with someone hovering nearby. Even with the bag over her head, Amanda could smell the atrocious blend of cheap cologne.

A door slid open, and she felt her knees hit the edge of metal and rubber. "Get in." She'd been on numerous stakeouts over her years on the force that she had some sort of kinesthetic memory when it came to these Ford vans. Her attacker prodded her forward and ordered her to take a seat. She fell against the bench and her shoulder bumped into a body much bigger than hers. Before she could make sense of the crazy kidnapping situation, she felt another body shoved up on her right side.

The door slammed shut and sealed the back of the van in pitch black darkness.

Without her vision, she couldn't tell with certainty how many people were in there with her. But she could hear the small differences in the soft whimpers and the sonorous grunts. They were also quite packed along the bench that even when the driver went hard on the brakes, there was barely any room to slide forward. She imagined there were at least five people on either side.

Amanda was sure about one thing though. Her skin brushed against his skin - cool and damp from his body going into fight or flight mode. She breathed deeply to take in the remnants of his warm aftershave, and she could recall, not too long ago, inhaling his scent as her lips pressed onto his neck. Her bound hands left her lap, skimming over the smooth fabric of his slacks to find his wrists tied in similar fashion. She felt the roughness of his palms, opening up to take in her smaller hands. Recognizing each other despite their deprived senses, Nick closed over her hands and squeezed protectively.

It felt like hours before the van finally jolted to a stop, the roar of the engine dying out to a stillness. As soon as she heard the door pulled open, Amanda tried to take away her hands from Nick's hold, but he refused to let go.

 _Until._

Nick's hand was ripped from her grasp and she felt a sudden chill in the wake of his absence. Next, it was her turn to be yanked forward. She nearly tripped on her own feet as she was taken by the waist and settled down onto the ground like some kind of broken doll. The plastic ties snapped, releasing her. And the bag was torn from her head, blinding her with bright fluorescent lights. She blinked several times to adjust to the new environment - an enclosed underground parking lot. There were no signs on the walls apart from yellow number fours painted on thick cylindrical posts.

A few feet away, she saw Nick still restrained. His shoulders were square and his chest was heaving, nearly tearing through his shirt.

She took one step toward him but was barricaded by a muscled arm belonging to a man wearing a black suit and an earpiece. "Don't you worry about your husband." Just then, another man in a suit pulled the bag over Nick's head and sliced through the cable ties with a switchblade.

He appeared disoriented, tightly sealing his eyes, before he could adjust to his surroundings. Amanda's breath hitched in her throat as their eyes locked. Even when they were standing apart, she could feel that wave of relief wash over him.

They were both alive; and so far, unharmed.

"Everyone, stay calm and follow me," said the man who had freed Nick. He walked halfway down the parking lot to a small room that enclosed the elevators. Three men in suits controlled the situation while eleven stood in silent fear, anxiously waiting for the doors to slide open. Amanda tried to study the group and see if there was some common thread that led them into this mess. The only conclusion she had was they all were dressed to kill; they all looked like they could afford whatever ransom was tied to their release.

One of the men pulled out a card and hovered it over a sensor, allowing him to press the button for the 42nd floor. They filed into the service elevator; and Amanda noticed that even though they were made to stand apart, Nick never tore his eyes away from her.

Above the doors, the light dimmed as the elevator smoothly came to a stop. Her hazy, silver reflection on the doors gave way to a lavish room with lush, velvet drapes and marble floors the color of onyx. Tufted Victorian-inspired seating was arranged in one side of the room, and an ornate, mahogany table anchored the rest of the space. Although the music was muffled, the bass reverberated through the walls with a rising crescendo that mimicked the pounding against her chest.

There was no doubt in her mind. She knew what she was walking into.

* * *

The burgundy curtains drew back to reveal a tall and thin woman adorned in leather and lace. Her skin was white as paper, and she would've looked like some ghost from the seventeenth century had it not been for the deep rouge on her cheeks and the plum on her lips. Pin-straight, black hair almost shone blue under the light, a shocking contrast against her fairness.

"Welcome," she greeted as her hands swept open in a theatrical gesture. The flash of a white smile appeared on her gaunt face. She crooked a finger and indicated for the eleven of them to come closer, ignoring the fact that each one of them appeared like a deer in the headlights. "Don't be scared. I don't bite. _Yet_."

Nick felt a shiver run down his spine as the woman's pale blue eyes drank him in.

"I am Nina and I am the gatekeeper of the Wolfsbane Sex Society. My role is to welcome new recruits, enforce the rules, and ensure everyone is enjoying themselves to the fullest extent," she paused to assess the recognition on their faces. "Follow me."

The gatekeeper turned on her heels and disappeared past the curtains. The group trailed behind, Nick hanging back to fall into step with Amanda. He gave her a look to elicit a reaction, but she played it cool and gave nothing away. By the time they were past the threshold, he couldn't see anything anyway.

They walked down a darkened hallway, where every step took them closer and closer to the thumping vibrations and the ringing music. He felt like the walls were closing in as he approached the source of all the action.

Stopping at double doors, Nina braced herself before she pushed them open. At once, it was an invasion of the senses. Women in lingerie and men in briefs were interspersed among a crowd of well-dressed patrons, some of whom he had recognized from the clubhouse and the fourth of July party. He caught a glimpse of Violet and Owen Walker, more at ease than he had ever seen the married couple. His stare didn't linger though as he was immediately distracted by the vision that was Paula Young. The white satin bra and panties brought out the deep mocha of her skin. Her body melded into that of a younger woman - blonde and blessed with shapely curves.

His throat felt like a dry wasteland. He needed refuge and hoped to find it by averting his attention anywhere else. But his gaze fell upon a couple tangled in a heated liplock wrapped up in hair pulling and back scratching.

The music sounded like some deep house or trippy electronic experiment from Northern Europe. The bass pounded against the walls, forcing everyone to get as intimate as possible just to whisper whatever dirty things they wanted to do to each other. The scent in the air was thick with a heady jasmine, tobacco, and sex. It violated Nick's senses to that tipping point where he felt his body electrify with heat and unsolicited excitement.

He didn't stand rooted at the door for very long. With a snap of her fingers, the gatekeeper directed their group's attention back to her before she ushered them along the side of the main room. The farther in they were, the crazier things became. All that drunken revelry appeared like some modern-day Roman bacchanalia. Draped curtains teased into rooms and enclaves where even more sinful acts were transpiring. For a moment, Nick felt like a creep, like he was encroaching upon a private moment. Strangely, his impulse was to search for Amanda's forgiveness for being such a pig, but he was taken aback slightly when he noticed she was just as wide-eyed about the whole thing. He brushed his arm against hers, and gave her a fleeting look. And just as he suspected, her darkened eyes gave away that she was just as aroused as he was.

"Come in. Please help yourself to a glass of champagne."

The chosen eleven entered a room that isolated them from the carnal chaos outside. Dressed in skimpy attire, a man and a woman greeted them with trays of Veuve Clicquot and fresh strawberries. Nick smirked as he watched Amanda pop a strawberry into her mouth before she downed an entire glass.

They all sat down on a large L-shaped sofa with room to spare. Amanda sidled up next to him and she hung her head low to whisper to him. "How are you feelin'?"

"I'm fine."

"You look tense," she said as she placed her hand on his knee. Nick sat up and took a deep breath, mentally shaking off any evidence of this supposed tension. "You're not changing your mind, are you?"

He forced a smile and shook his head.

After everyone was seated and the gatekeeper took her spot at the center of the room, she began her orientation to the club. Wolfsbane Sex Society was the official name; but just like Palahniuk's Fight Club, the first rule of the club was not to talk about the club. Speaking about it outside the party, even among fellow members, was a surefire way of getting one's membership revoked. And once a person took part in the experience within the glossy walls and velvet curtains, it simply wasn't worth the risk to bring it up in the outside world.

"Now, I know your initiation into the society came as a shock to you -"

"- You think?" On the far end of the couch, a man clicked his tongue mockingly. "Is kidnapping standard for all newcomers?"

Nina laughed breathily. "It's a tradition that threads throughout many secret societies - Skulls and Bones, Freemasons, the Illuminati… We do it to confirm new recruits can be trusted. I assure you, Mr. Wentworth, the next time you receive an invitation, you will have a better understanding of what to expect."

Nick glanced down, and for the first time that evening he noticed the red line that scored at the surface of Amanda's wrist. Lightly, he traced over the line. She pulled away and hid her hand between their bodies, her eyes refusing to meet the worried look in his.

"Speaking of trust, let's discuss some of the rules that see to it our members' privacy and safety are protected. As you are aware, prior to entering the club, you surrendered all cell phones and cameras." Nick wanted to argue that no one willingly surrendered their phones; 'snatched away' was more like it. But he bit his tongue and continued to listen to Nina, who spoke with a flourish as though her words needed to be drawn in calligraphy. "You are not allowed to take photographs or reproduce any of the images or events that take place within the walls of the society. That includes art and written works... Last year, we had a member who wrote a short story for the New Yorker. And although he claimed it was fiction, there were details in the account that closely resembled actual events that involved high-ranking members of the society. Needless to say, he is no longer with us nor the New Yorker… I believe, he writes fluff pieces for the Post."

Nick wondered if that anecdote was supposed to put the fear of God in him. He could see why it would dissuade anyone else from opening their mouths about the secret club. But knowing that powerful people - trusted members of the community - were implicit in the scandalous activities of the society, just motivated him further to expose the underlying criminal activity.

The gatekeeper opened a polished box and pulled out a thin, slate gray cuff with a blinking red light. "This is a bracelet that identifies your consent and boundaries. Inside the cuff, there's a button from which you can select your light - red means 'no', yellow means 'to ask and proceed with caution', and green means you consent to the act and to anyone who wishes to participate."

Three women in matching sets of bras and panties entered the room. They each carried about a stack of four boxes and distributed them among the new recruits. When one of the women reached Nick, she opened the box and pulled out the cuff. She bent low, her auburn hair spilling past her shoulders, and her full breasts coming directly within his line of sight. After she secured the bracelet, she slowly straightened her body, making sure she pressed on his thighs for support.

When he turned to his side, he expected Amanda to be upset about what just happened; but he was surprised to see a glint of a smirk across her lips.

"Stating limits is very important because we want to encourage our members to play safely and consensually."

Nick toyed with the cuff. It was currently flashing red, and he wondered to himself how long that would last. While he appreciated the society's front on trust and safety, he was well aware of what they were hiding under their pseudo-liberal sexual empowerment bullshit. It was all smoke and mirrors. All of it was simply so they could have legal protection, if it came to that, and divert attention from the sex trafficking ring. But if the investigative research, prior to sending him and Amanda on the assignment, was unmistakably correct then no club rules protected the society from child abduction and statutory rape.

"There's a wide spectrum of what our members do here. We don't judge. We've had new recruits dive in, giving the green light for anything - from multiple penetration to rope play. And we've also had those who took their time to get comfortable, remaining with their spouse or another monogamous partner."

He fixed his gaze at Amanda's crossed legs as he thought about what Nina had just said. He knew Amanda was determined to do whatever it took to save those girls, but he wasn't sure he was comfortable with the idea of her shining that green light. Likewise, he couldn't see himself giving the green light. Ever.

Universal consent was a terrifying concept and a predator's daydream.

Even the yellow light seemed like a totally taboo idea. Sure, he'd seen numerous attractive women since he stepped out of the elevator. He would have been lying to himself if he said he didn't imagine what it would be like to be in the middle of a pile of beautiful, writhing bodies. He was a red-blooded male, after all. But he didn't see a point to it. He didn't see how having sex with a bunch of random women could bring him one step closer to finding those girls. There were gaps in Amanda's plan, but she was too smart a detective to be unaware of that. He was sure, now more than ever, she was up to something.

* * *

The chosen eleven were separated.

Nick cast one last glance at her before he was ushered through a door at one end of the room. Amanda didn't quite understand the division until her group of three women and two men were led through another door and another maze of hallways. Along the way, they passed couples and threesomes pressed up against the wall. The two men in her group, who could have easily blended in with Wall Street types, stopped and ogled as two gay men devoured each other's mouths. The man she now knew as Mr. Wentworth licked his lips, taking advantage of the younger man's green light to squeeze his ass. He parted from his mate's kiss to look over his shoulder, a lascivious grin forming across his too-pretty face.

"Move along," said their guide, a hulking man well over six feet tall. He had a thick beard and lush, dark hair scattered down his torso and disappearing into a pair of tight, leather shorts. Amanda couldn't help but give him a once-over as she slid right past him and into the room.

The bulbs glowed a dim blue, reminding her of a traumatizing experience with tanning booths the night before her senior prom. It didn't help that it was much warmer in there than it was out in the hallway.

They were instructed to take their seats around the periphery of the stage, like they were about to watch some fashion show. The only difference was the catwalk had a series of stripper poles running the length of it. She had paid visits to her fair share of strip clubs working in the Special Victims division of Atlanta PD. This one, although it wasn't technically a strip club, won in terms of class. By a fucking mile.

She searched the room for their guide, but he was nowhere to be seen. Suddenly, the music started and the strobe lights beamed and flickered maniacally across the stage. One by one, half-naked men in leather shorts stepped out from behind the curtain. Their hips swayed fluidly to the beat of the music as they flexed their biceps. Amanda couldn't help but snicker. Sure, they were hot - male bodies built and oiled like Greek gods - but there was something so comical about synchronized male strippers. It was more hilarious than it was a turn-on, and she was having trouble keeping it together.

Sinking into her chair, she placed a hand over the goofy grin she couldn't suppress. Her eyes met with the guide's, and she noticed the deep scowl on his rough and tumble features. He got low on the floor and slid toward the edge of the stage, his lower half dry-humping air.

Amanda choked on her own laugh, stopping herself when she realized that he hadn't torn away his intense glare. She straightened up, like a scolded child, as she watched him get back on his feet to stride toward the shiny, silver pole. Standing on stage, he towered over her like a tree she suddenly had the urge to climb. She wet her lips as his fist coiled around the pole, dropping down slowly and thrusting his hips up to the beat of the drum.

The dancing continued and Amanda felt her skin grow hot with unsatiated anticipation. One minute she was laughing at the Magic Mike display, and the next, her body was awakening because some lumberjack-looking leather daddy was gyrating his pelvis against a stripper pole. She was so confused that she needed to divert her attention away from her personal show. The other male strippers were doing their own dances, and their audiences seemed to eat up every second of it. One of the Wall Street guys clapped his hands excitedly, while Mr. Wentworth had used his tie to rope in his dancer. A woman on the other side of the stage had already gotten on her feet to pull her personal stripper down to the floor and onto her lap. He obliged, pressing his knees on either side of her lap so he could grind his hips into her, prompting her to squeal like a cat in heat.

Her view was suddenly obscured by a looming figure. She looked up to see her stripper glaring down at her, his arms crossed and legs spread far apart. She was about to protest or apologize - actually, she wasn't sure what she was going to say - when he bent down to tilt her chin. His warm breath ghosted over her face. "What do I have to do to get you to look at me?"

Amanda's throat ran dry. She didn't like surrendering control, especially to some guy she didn't even know. But she felt her body betray her as warmth coursed down between her legs; and she felt her conscience startle her as she felt the strange sensation of guilt.

She blinked a couple of times before she stared into the man's dark eyes. "Much better," he said huskily, taking his hand away from her face. Instead, he pressed his palms down his muscular abdomen and dipped them below the band of his shorts. His fingertips skimmed under the leather briefly before he snapped it against his skin. "Tell me what you want from me, darlin'"

Ignoring the guilt that was slowly creeping into her conscience, she allowed her hands to trail across the tight ripples of his abs. They bulged out; the veins palpable under the pads of her fingers. She settled her hands on his hips and used that as leverage to pull herself up. Even with her stilettos on, she barely made it past his shoulders.

Staring up at his face, she was met by the reminder that this wasn't Nick. She promised herself she wouldn't get distracted; that she wouldn't allow the sex with her partner to detract from her main focus, which was saving her sister. She was so determined to find Kim that she was willing to do anything to bring her closer to that point. If that meant building her reputation within the society and proving that she was trustworthy, then she was going to do it.

But even as she had that opportunity... even when she had a hulking male specimen standing right in front of her, all she could think about was Nick and the gnawing guilt that what she was doing was going to hurt him. It was a new feeling - a foreign feeling - and she didn't like it one bit.

Wrapping a hand around the back of his thick neck, she pulled him down and rasped over his lips. "Kiss me."

* * *

Down another darkened hallway and past a crowd that gathered around an orgy, a group of six men savored a similar show from female strippers. They came out in these leather bikinis with chain harnesses strapped down to their thigh-high boots. By the time the music transitioned into something more sensual, half the women had left their poles and their tops, and found themselves straddling the laps of their clients.

Nick did his due diligence, reminding himself that he was still technically working. He kept note of all the women, noticing that not one of them looked underage. And no one seemed to fit the profile of any of those kidnapped girls.

Nick's face felt hot as the woman, who had spent the last thirteen minutes gliding and twirling around the pole, crawled onto the edge of the stage. She was gorgeous and sexy - skin the color of milk chocolate and hair an unnaturally bright and fiery red. Curves and slopes in all the right places, she knew how to move her body in a sensuous dance that had his slacks feeling tight within seconds. She smirked as she crooked her finger to signal him to come closer.

Leaning forward, he felt her pull him by the collar until her lips pressed against his ear. "Tell me what you want from me."

Guilt consumed him, once again, as those memories of the relationship he was developing with Amanda hit him like a bullet. He wasn't even sure if they were headed in that direction. Lately, it had been all sex; no intimacy. Maybe he was getting the wrong impression of where he stood with his undercover partner, but it still didn't change that feeling deep in his gut that he was being disloyal. It was a ridiculous idea because they weren't even dating. But, in him, there was that hope that burned brighter each day he spent with Amanda; and that was enough. So even though he knew what he was getting into when he agreed to sign up for the sex club, what he was doing still felt too close to cheating.

"Come on, _guapo_ , how about a lap dance?"

Nick snapped back into reality as he stared back at the woman. Her eyes were dark, surging with lust, and her skin shimmered with a fragrant oil that wrapped around him like a vise. Oxygen suddenly felt like a scarce commodity.

He nodded once and she smiled coyly in return. Swinging her legs over the edge, she took the small leap down to the ground and wasted no time standing within inches of his open legs. Despite the reaction she was eliciting from his body, he still didn't like that sinking feeling deep in his gut. He tried to convince himself the only reason he was agreeing to the lap dance was so he could blend into the society, as per Amanda's request. But deep down, he knew that wasn't the whole truth, especially when the stripper slid her knee between his legs to spread them farther apart. She brushed against him and a smirk graced her lips as she felt his undeniable hardness.

"Look who's come out to play."

Her pouty lips came dangerously close to his own as she slowly spun around to settle her round ass on the edge of the seat. Her lower back, marked with a small tattoo of roses, sloped deliciously into plump globes that were in his perfect view. He never considered himself to be a boob or ass kind of guy, preferring to go for classically beautiful women with a more petite or athletic figure. But now that he had the most delicious looking ass within reach, he thought he might need to reassess his selection process when it came to the opposite sex.

She whipped her hair back and glanced over her shoulder. "You can touch, you know... This ain't like most strip clubs." When Nick stammered and couldn't move, she took it upon herself to reach behind her and guide his hands to her hips. "Can I?" she asked, stroking her index finger over the yellow light on his bracelet.

"Um… yeah, sure."

She giggled. "You're cute."

Her skin was smooth, warm, and a bit slick from the oil that smelled like sweet, creamy vanilla. She backed her ass into the palms of his hands, slowly rolling her hips until she felt his fingertips dip into her skin. "You like that, _papi_?"

Yes, he liked it _very_ much. Almost too much.

It felt surreal, like he wanted to call the attention of the next guy over and ask him if this was all some very vivid wet dream. But the man in the next chair was too preoccupied burying his face in a woman's chest, his hands scooping up a handful of her fleshy ass. It was a glaring reminder that he wasn't the only one experiencing this one-on-one welcoming party. Amanda was probably getting the same treatment, too.

Green-eyed jealousy coursed through his veins like surging rapids. He didn't want to picture it, but his brain kept bombarding him with images of Amanda getting up close and personal with a male stripper. He hated it when men ogled her like she was something to be conquered, so he absolutely despised the idea of a strange man's hands touching her body. Just the thought of her lips locked with another man's made his blood boil to the point he nearly stood up and demanded to see her.

But he was pushed against the backrest of the chair.

The woman got up and pulled her hair up, bending forward so her breasts were in his face as she straddled his lap. She released her hair, letting it cascade over her shoulders. Gripping the back of the chair, she began to gyrate her hips, rubbing against the hardened length beneath his slacks.

Nick craned his neck back. His vision was so overwhelmed by the strobe lights that he closed his eyes. What he saw - what he instantly imagined - was not the woman giving him a lap dance, but the scene from earlier that evening. Just before they headed out for, what they thought was, the art exhibit, Nick had his back against the pillows. Amanda's knuckles had turned white from gripping the headboard as she rode him to a most satisfying completion. A flash of white light appeared behind his eyes.

When his lids fluttered open, he looked straight ahead and got an eyeful of her full breasts; nipples straining against the tiny leather triangles. Her lips were cruising over his neck and just over the lobe of his ear. "My set's almost done," she paused, crashing her center over his sheathed cock. "But if you want to continue this later, just ask for Jinx."

"Jinx…"

Her lips trailed kisses along the side of his neck, his head turning slightly to grant her more access. Half-lidded eyes surveyed his surroundings. The frequent flashes of the strobe light gave him millisecond glimpses of what was going on in the far corners of the room. A whip of waist-length blonde hair revealed a face so familiar, he swore to the high heavens it was Amanda. The room turned dark before a flash illuminated her face - porcelain skin, high cheekbones, and eyes the color of the sky on a cloudless day.

"A - what the fuck?"


	14. Blood

**AN:** _An update within the same week? I blame it on the snow day and Easter weekend, even though I really should be catching up on my readings. Yikes. Thank you to those who reviewed! I can't really be upset because it took me forever to update and maybe people had lost interest, but I really hope you guys start leaving reviews again. Views are great, but receiving feedback is the only thing a fanfic author can really ask for. :) :) :)_

 _Also, Bobbie said she hoped it was Kim that Nick saw during the end of last chapter, and you'll find out here if it was her (sort of). Happy Easter!_

* * *

 **Hush**

 **14\. Blood**

* * *

The restless aftershock of Amanda's deceit was a current through her bones. She paced back and forth, fingertips tracing over the raw burn of her lips. When she asked him to kiss her, she didn't expect it to happen before she could exhaust her breath. The man was aggressive - not that she ever had a problem with a partner who liked it rough, but it made her jump. His tongue wrestled its way down her throat, teeth snagging sharply on her skin. It only took a few laps of his mouth enveloping hers and his arm coursing its way behind her waist, before she equalized the exchange. She got so lost in the turmoil of the kiss it drowned out those thoughts of Nick.

But reality came crashing down as the music switched and the man pulled away. "Find me later, dollface." Hungry eyes raked over her body one last time before he disappeared behind the curtain. She imagined she would've been all hot and bothered; but as soon as she was left alone, she realized she didn't want more. She had no desire to finish what they started. All she wanted to was to find a bar of soap and scrub off the stain of a stranger's kiss.

Sins that never unsettled her before now agitated her sense of right and wrong.

The gatekeeper returned to the room with Nick and the other men following behind. He didn't even see her when he walked in, looking lost in thought with a frown on his face and a wrinkle between his brows. Amanda was about to question his mood, when she noticed his shirt had a couple extra buttons undone. His flushed chest peeked through, the warmth of his complexion rising through the dilated veins of his neck. At the crown of his head, cropped curls were pulled out of place.

Someone else had touched him.

Amanda ambushed him, and he had no other option but snap out of his daze and acknowledge her presence. He blinked, silently regarding her with intense scrutiny.

"How was it?" She cocked her head to the side and raised a brow. Part of it was driven by curiosity; the other part driven by competition. His face was like a question mark. He still hadn't quite snapped out of whatever punch-drunk state he was in. Amanda figured his stripper must've done quite the number on him. "Your welcome package. How was she?"

"Oh…"

"Did she give you a lap dance?"

He nodded with hesitation, looking slightly uncomfortable with the interrogation. "She was… She, uh, said I could touch her and so I held her hips; but nothing more than that. I mean, she kissed my neck, too… But… Geez, Amanda, I'm sorry if -"

"-Wait." She held a hand up to stop all the stammering. "Don't apologize. That's kinda the point of us being here, right?" She waited for him to agree, but he just kept staring at her, flustered. "Look, Nick, I don't care what you did with the stripper or what you want to do when we go out there. Don't stop yourself from having fun on account of me."

Taking her by the arm, he bent low and hissed in her ear, "It's not fun. It's work."

"It's both." She turned her head so her lips hovered close to his, and she smirked. "I made out with my stripper."

"You kissed him?"

She shrugged her shoulders nonchalantly. "Yeah. Got a problem with that?"

"Nah." Letting go of her arm, he straightened up and clenched his jaw.

Now that Amanda felt she had one-upped him, she could focus on the investigation. Clearly, there was no reason to be so bent out of shape about the scrap of guilt that followed her actions. Neither she nor Nick were saints, and it was ridiculous to expect that they would be faithful to each other coming into this situation. Commitment was hardly ever on the table for her whenever she jumped into bed with a guy, so why was the question even lingering in her mind?

Walking past him, she headed toward the party. The sound of a thorough bass wrapped around her body, strobe lights and lasers flooding her vision. Alcohol spilled and smoke plumed while bodies stretched and twisted in various states of bliss. It was as if heaven and hell existed in the same place.

She searched through the carousel of scantily dressed adults, and got an eyeful of Leo Fiorentino surrounded by beautiful women in nothing but frilly panties. Tits in his face, Leo took laps at each one with his tongue before he knocked back a glass of whiskey. His laugh roared so loud it could be heard through the deafening music.

Amanda continued to survey the open room. Every white woman with blonde hair could potentially be Kim; unfortunately, there were legions of lingerie-clad women fitting that profile.

A lot more people had lost their clothes since they had arrived. Two women made out while a crowd circled around them and jerked off, taking the meaning of 'circlejerk' to a literal level. Behind her, she heard the smack of flesh against flesh followed by ardent moans. She turned around to peer into the alcove to see a man on his stomach being sodomized by another, while he ate out a woman whose legs squeezed around his neck. Sweat coated their bodies, highlighting the sinew of muscles that flexed with every rapid and rhythmic motion. She didn't tear her eyes away, until the woman gasped and opened her once tightly sealed lids. The woman licked her lips, beckoning Amanda to turn it into a foursome.

Her cheeks burned bright as she turned away, coming face to face with Nick.

"Are you looking for someone?"

"No. Who would I be looking for?" She feigned disbelief. She tried to get past him but he took her by the arm again. He wasn't hurting her, but she didn't like the possessiveness she was seeing.

"I don't know what you think you're doing, but you could try looking a little less suspicious."

"You're way too paranoid."

"No, it's called discretion." Sighing, he dipped his mouth close to her ear and pulled her body closer. "There's security standing around, watching our every move."

"I know what I'm doing."

"Do you?" Nick's warm breath sent a rush of anger and arousal through her body. She wanted to fight him, but she knew he was right. For a moment there, she lost her head, even though she would never admit it to him. She couldn't risk her cover by keeping watch of the scene like she was on a stakeout. Nick's hand released her arm only to glide to her lower back, drawing her flush against his chest. His lips caressed her cheek, before he let their foreheads touch. "Amanda, I don't have a problem with you doing what you need to do to solve this case."

She reared her head back and narrowed her eyes. "Really? I find that hard to believe."

"But don't use this as an excuse so you can get a rise out of me."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"I'm not interrupting anything, am I?" A drunken man bumped Nick's shoulder. His drink sloshed in his glass, some of the amber liquid spilling down his fingers. "I saw the two of you and couldn't believe my eyes. Mr. and Mrs. Santiago - wouldn't you know!"

It was then that she recognized the portly man. It didn't even surprise her when she noticed his cuff glowing green. "Mr. Livingston, no, you weren't interrupting anything."

"Please, call me Doug." Stepping back to admire the two of them, he couldn't help but break into a delighted grin. "When I saw the two of you for the first time at the clubhouse, my first thought was 'Damn!' How I wished you two would end up finding yourselves here… God! Even when you two were fighting just now," he said, eyes glazed over Amanda, "it was so fucking sexy."

"We weren't fighting," Nick replied.

Doug laughed and lightly punched him on the shoulder. "Don't worry about it, kid. It's not unusual for first-timers to get jealous. You'll get used to it. Hell, you'll live for it."

"Wait, is your wife here?" Amanda's jaw dropped. The prospect of pleasant and polite Sally Livingston being part of the sex society was so out of this world.

"Sal?" Doug roared in laughter. "Look around you. Notice how most members are men? Not all women are as open to the idea as you are; that's why they hire all these strippers and escorts. Someone's got to balance it out."

"Where are they from?"

"The strippers?" Doug asked, furrowing his brow. "I don't know. New York, Jersey… Who the fuck cares?"

"Right," Amanda giggled. She placed a hand over Nick's chest and leaned into him. "I was just asking, because Nick, here, loves a _bad_ Southern girl, and he's never had a threesome before."

Nick cleared his throat, running a hand behind his neck.

"I just want to do something for him, since he's always taking care of me." Amanda bit on her bottom lip and fluttered her lashes. "Ain't that right, baby?"

* * *

They still weren't on good terms even as they explored the party and mingled with the other guests. There was a crackling tension beneath the surface, but it didn't stop either one of them from playing their parts. With ease, Amanda slipped into her role of a coquettish Southern belle. She flirted with the people they encountered, both men and women; but she kept her hands on her _husband_ the entire time.

"We'd like to explore the possibilities," she hinted with a sly smile, "but tonight, I think I'm going to stick close to my man."

Pretending to be a wealthy and successful sports agent at country club parties was one thing, but having to do that in an environment where all kinds of sexual acts were out in the open was more challenging. Not only was it distracting, but the unresolved argument he had with Amanda still hung on, like the bitter aftertaste of a pill. It also wasn't fair how she toyed with him. Her arm snaked around his neck, forcing their bodies to come together.

She tilted her head to the side, and flashed a smile that showed off her dimples. "Maybe next time," she told the tall, blue-eyed stranger who asked if they were interested in a three-way.

The man looked a little disappointed, but smiled anyway as he respectfully excused himself to go search for another couple to proposition.

When a woman walked by with a tray of shots, Nick didn't even bother to ask, he just took two and swallowed them down. He needed to control this storm of emotions - nervousness, anger, and arousal. Alcohol probably wasn't the best solution for his predicament, but at the very least it would calm his nerves. Amanda stopped the waitress before she moved away, taking another two shot glasses before handing one over to Nick.

"To us." She raised her glass and clinked it with his. "For making it this far without killing each other."

Nick shook his head and smiled. Even if he still felt like he couldn't trust her, even if he knew for certain she was playing him - he had to agree that making it this far, for them, was quite a feat. "To us."

The third time, the liquid didn't burn anymore.

The fourth time, mixed with a second glass of champagne, he felt relaxed.

By the sixth shot, he couldn't even remember why he was pissed at Amanda. She placed her weight on him as she embraced his neck, swaying her hips to the rhythm of the music. Her eyes burned into his as she ground into him, coaxing his hardness. _God_ , he wanted her. If only he were a couple more drinks in, he probably would have taken her right there and blended in with the rest of those nasty freaks.

His hands remained on her hips, his forehead touching hers as they got lost in their own little world. He kissed her slow and soft, yet it was enough to make his head spin out of axis. She was intoxicating, more than any liquor flowing down his throat.

Blindly, she pulled him back with her until they stumbled against the wall, the kiss growing more urgent with the collision. The mouth-watering taste of her lips had him craving for her taste elsewhere. He twined his fingers through hers and pressed them up against the wall. His knee nudged between her legs, pushing up the short hem of her dress. He broke the kiss and panted below the subtle slope of her jaw. "I want to fuck you so bad."

She gasped, long legs locking his strong thigh close to her radiating center. Closing his eyes, he focused on the heat between their bodies. He grazed his teeth along her jugular, soothing the sting with a stroke of his tongue. She tried to push her hand from the wall so she could touch him, but he resisted as he slid them up over her head. He gripped her wrists with one hand, and allowed the other to trail down the sides of her curves. He slipped his fingers just below the bottom of her dress, leaving small pinpricks of anticipation on her inner thigh.

"Nick…"

The teasing was testing her patience. She rolled her hips against him, hiking up the skirt of her dress a few inches, revealing more of the milky, smooth length of her legs. Nick followed her suggestion, rough hands brushing along her skin. He buried his face in her neck, letting his lips skim over her pulse. Turning her head to the side, she granted him more access.

A sharp intake of air filled her lungs and she pushed against him with her chest. A surge of masculine pride washed over him because he thought it was his doing, but she shifted out of his hold. Her eyes trained on a blonde woman who had her back turned.

"Amanda, wait!"

But she was already stalking toward the woman. Her steps determined and her focus dead set, even as the other woman started walking away. Nick chased after Amanda, dodging the crowd and the boisterous provocations. He stopped abruptly before he could slam into a waitress carrying a full tray of drinks. He craned his neck to search for the two women, and he only saw a brief flash of Amanda as she entered an alcove.

He was there within seconds. Amanda stood still to behold the twelve or so bodies contorted like human origami. The blonde she had followed lost her sheer dress before she joined the revelry on the large, round bed. She crawled forward and wasted no time, sinking her mouth in between another woman's ass cheeks.

Amanda turned around, surprised by Nick's presence in the room.

In his thunder-struck state, he couldn't avert his eyes from the whole picture - each body bent in a position that made his blood flow south, each facial expression knotted in a mix of pain and pleasure. He had never seen anything so pornographic. It was absolutely vile; and yet it stirred up this lust within him that pushed him to almost painful proportions.

His trousers were a cage.

"You're so hard." Amanda squeezed his bulge as her tongue traced along her lip. "Who knew you could be so dirty?"

He stared into her blue eyes, darkened like the unfathomable depths of the ocean.

"What was that? Why'd you go after her?"

"Hmmm…" She circled her thumb over the head, enjoying his reaction as he sealed his eyes and clenched his jaw. "Don't change the subject. Let's talk about how watching this orgy is making you hot… You like this, huh? Try to tell yourself this is just a job, but I can _feel_ what it's doing to you, baby… I can see you getting off on this… Jesus, you're like a steel pole."

He was going to come in his pants if she didn't stop talking dirty and stroking him. He turned around and rushed out of there, his body screaming at him to return to the firm grip of her hand. She was right; she had him figured out. This assignment had him feeling a mixture of fear and arousal - emotions he couldn't control. And instead of being his partner and working through the confusion with him, Amanda seemed to take pleasure in preying on his weaknesses.

* * *

Nick needed air, but he wasn't going to get any of that in the enclosed space. He didn't even know where he was exactly, only that he was 42 storeys off the ground. Everything that happened since they entered the art gallery overwhelmed him. It was a mistake to get drunk and lose the little control he had left. He wanted the effects of the alcohol to wear off, so he walked toward the bar for a glass of water.

"I could help you with that." He felt a gentle tug on his wrist and turned around to face a woman at least ten years his senior. Regardless of the age difference, she was still fit and beautiful with chestnut hair, deep brown eyes, and a sun-kissed tan. In some ways, she reminded him of Olivia.

"Excuse me?"

She smiled shyly, her eyes roving down his body to settle on the bulge on his trousers. He felt his cheeks grow hot as he remembered his unappeased downstairs situation. It wasn't as hard as it was when Amanda was massaging his dick through the fabric, but it was still quite noticeable.

Her voice was soft and soothing - a total departure from the next words that came out of her mouth. "I want to suck your cock while you fuck my face... And when you bust your load down my throat, I'm going to swallow every last drop of your cum until you become soft in my mouth."

 _God damn._

She bit on her bottom lip and stared at him with doe eyes. "So, can I," she began, "can I blow you?"

"Uh," Nick chuckled nervously, the hair on the back of his neck standing in attention. "I appreciate the offer, but I think I'm all good for now."

"If you change your mind, I'll be right here," she said with a sigh of disappointment.

He gave her a small smile before he rushed to the bar, needing that drink now more than ever. But just as he reached the counter and had the bartender's attention, he saw a blonde woman emerging out of a hallway. The bartender tried to ask for his order, but it was as if Nick was stuck in a trance. It was the same woman from the welcoming striptease earlier that night. She looked so much like Amanda from a distance; it was eerie.

It made sense - Amanda's vigilance throughout the night. The way she searched high and low through the crowd for some mysterious blonde. She was looking for this girl.

Nick pushed against the edge of the bar and approached the woman. The closer he got, the more he noticed the subtle differences in their features. This woman's face was more gaunt, and her jaw a little more pronounced. She looked younger although not by much. She had bangs straight across her forehead, unlike Amanda's which were swept to the side and framed her face quite beautifully. But their eyes were identical - a feline shape with sky blue irises.

She briefly looked down to adjust the band of her tiny leather skirt. Nick took the opportunity to purposefully run into her. She lost her balance when she collided with his body, but he caught her in time. His hand swept behind her lower back, catching her fall.

"I'm sorry," she drawled in an unmistakable Southern accent. It was like listening to Amanda. "Should'a been watchin' where I was going,"

"No need to apologize."

She smoothed down her skirt and looked up to meet his eyes for the first time. His hand left her back to fall at his side, but it didn't stop her from taking a step closer to study his face. "I never seen you before. Is this your first time here?"

He nodded and extended his hand out for her to shake. "I'm Nick."

"Savannah," she said, slipping her hand in his and letting their handshake linger past the point of politeness. "You know, you're real cute. What're you, like, Mexican?"

"Cuban, actually."

"Mmm… that's sexy," she said as she gave him a once-over. "I don't think I've ever been with a Cuban man before."

Nick smiled, hoping the nerves firing through his body weren't evident in his expression. "So, Savannah, what's the story behind the name?"

"Named after the place my momma gave birth to me. My daddy an' her was driving through town when her water broke. He tried to race to the hospital while my momma was doin' all her breathin' in the backseat. Good thing my big sis was there with her."

"Your sister?"

"Yeah, my sister pulled me outta my momma's snatch," Savannah broke out in laughter, wiping the corners of her eyes. "Ain't that the most hick thing you ever hear?"

Nick blinked back in shock, not really sure how to respond to her story whether it was true or not. If he weren't already sure about her before, then he was a hundred percent sure of it now. It was as if the gears finally clicked into place. Amanda wanted to become part of the sex society because she knew her sister was here. She knew it all along. As much as she wanted to save the teenage girls from the group home, her primary objective was to rescue Savannah.

"Hun, you got a client upstairs -" They were joined by another woman with flaming red hair and deep skin. He instantly recognized her as Jinx, the stripper who gave him a lap dance earlier in the night. She stopped when she realized who the blonde was speaking to. "Oh, I'm sorry for interrupting. It's nice to see you again, Mr. Santiago."

"Mr. San-tee-ago?" Savannah licked her lips. "You two know each other?"

"Yeah, I um… I gave him a lapdance."

"You got paired up with him?" Savannah released a shrill noise, playfully slapping Jinx' shoulder. "You bitch!"

Jinx merely smirked, flashing a knowing look at Nick. "You gotta go, baby girl. You know better than to keep him waiting."

"Who is it this time?" Savannah asked with a grimace.

"The Pig, who else?"

The blonde rolled her eyes and finally nodded with acceptance. She turned to Nick and shot him a sorry smile. Placing her hands on his shoulders, she leaned into him and pressed a soft kiss on his cheek. "Next time, handsome."


	15. Disclosure

**AN:** _Here's another overdue update. I'm going to try my best to work on this and not get sidetracked by other stories, even if they're fun to write. I don't have as much free time as I used to, but I really should be focusing on completing these unfinished projects. I also think rollaro deserves more love, especially since there are less than a handful of writers writing for them now *sadface emoji*_

 _Problem is, the reviewers for rollaro have dropped drastically (even though the views haven't dropped as much - weird). So if you're reading this, please review or send me a tweet ianasea, or a message on my tumblr. Hate it? I'd love to hear about it. Love it? I'd also love to hear about it. There's an inherent narcissism to being a writer, and I'd love for my ego to be fed when I'm writing rollaro just as much as when I'm writing a filthy Nick/Olivia/Elliot threesome._

 _Thank you to those who review. You're enablers of creativity. *heart eyes emoji*_

* * *

 **Hush**

 **15\. Disclosure**

* * *

Nick ran away from Amanda like a scared, little bitch.

Sure, she thought she had to sit in a corner for her actions; but she had to admit it was a little fun being naughty. It gave her this burst of energy, matching the electric drumbeat playing in her ears. Pounding flesh, smacking lips, and the cries of pleasure piecing together an arrangement of wild debauchery.

She felt liberated.

The sweet champagne spilled down her throat as she followed the seductive trail of servers, with their thin strips of leather and their silver trays of bubbly. She had a gaze that flit around the room, never settling on a person for long even when the scenes were foreign to her eyes. Kim had to be there somewhere. Maybe she was just serving drinks like these girls or maybe she was tangled amidst the piles of naked bodies. The only way she'd find out is if she continued her search.

The servers turned a corner past an archway. Amanda stopped dead in her tracks, pressing her back against the wall at the sight of a towering security guard. She took a deep breath before she peeked into the hallway to see him standing by a set of stairs, the bottom step fenced with velvet rope. She turned against the wall, her heart beating rapidly under her ribcage. Her legs wanted to bolt up the steps, but she knew better than to screw everything up on a gut feeling. One that was telling her Kim was only separated from her by a flight of stairs.

As she looked up, she saw Leo Fiorentino approaching. He was without his groupies this time, a strange sight considering he had been inseparable from them since their arrival. For a moment, she thought he saw her snooping around, but he was too laser-focused on his exit to even notice she was standing less than a foot from the archway. Amanda turned to her side and casually sipped on her champagne. She glanced briefly behind her as Leo disappeared down the hall.

Once he was out of sight, Amanda pressed her ear against the wall, peeking ever so slightly to catch a glimpse of Leo, hands on his hips and chin raised, facing the guard who appeared to be twice his size.

"Where is she?" Leo demanded.

The guard refused to answer the question. He kept his arms crossed over his muscled chest and his legs parted for a wide base of support. There was no way Leo could physically cross the behemoth of a man; but it didn't stop him. Leo shifted to the right in an attempt to slide past him and jump over the rope, but the security guard stopped him with a clothesline. Leo halted his movements before he suffered a blow that would send him on his ass.

"Sir, I need you to take a step back."

"I demand to speak with her. Right now."

"Sir, you know she's preoccupied right now." The guard flashed a look up the stairs before turning to the tech mogul. It was clear that it didn't matter who the smaller man was or how much more he had in all of his bank accounts, the guard wasn't granting him any favors. "You know she doesn't take any visitors without an appointment."

Leo slapped his hand against his chest. "I'm her business partner."

The security guard shrugged. "Sure, but I only answer to her."

Grumbling and muttering something under his breath, Leo paced a few feet down the hall before returning to the guard. He pointed at his chest, close enough that the guard slanted his eyes down and dared Leo to touch him. But the tip of his finger simply hovered over the shirt, before it fell limply back to his side. "Tell her I want my fucking privileges back!"

The guard remained stoic, lifting his eyes to the opposite wall and denying Leo any reaction.

"I made up for what I did. I brought in close to forty grand in new recruits since June. I make her money, and this is how she treats me?"

"You broke the neck of her top girl," the guard hissed, brows raised in disbelief.

"Bitch fucking deserved it!"

Furious and disgusted, Amanda clenched her fists. She knew Leo wasn't a good person, but learning what he had done to one of the girls and seeing his lack of remorse firsthand only confirmed it. He was scum and he deserved to suffer for what he did. But what really stonewalled and disturbed Amanda was the revelation that he wasn't really in control; in fact, he was in the outs with whomever was running the show. And whoever it was, it was a woman.

* * *

Nick meeting face to face with Savannah played on a loop in his head. He didn't want to forget a single detail; so when he questioned Amanda, he would have the information she was dying to know. She'd have no choice but to be honest with him.

He continued on a zigzag path through the main room, walking past pornographic acts that had become so commonplace he was desensitized. He walked until his body was paralyzed by her spell. Under the crystal chandelier, Amanda stood, porcelain legs glowing like brushstrokes of watercolour from the refraction of the glass. Her dress - the one he had discarded from her body as he took her on the dresser in their bedroom - it hugged her curves in a way that made him jealous of the garment. To have her so close, so skin-tight. It was the only thing that took the numbness away. It was her effect on him that stirred him back to life.

She turned her head, searching around the room. Her bright blue eyes connected with his and a soft smile fell upon her face. They met halfway and her hands reached out to touch his arms. Their mouths opened, ready to say what they needed to say - whatever they had just discovered.

He lifted his chin slightly, silently encouraging her to go first.

"It's a woman."

"What?" Nick had no idea what she was referring to, and she had no chance of explaining further because one of the male escorts had interrupted them. He placed a hand on their shoulders and ushered them toward the waiting room. "What's going on?"

"Party's over, sir," said the escort.

Nick looked around and saw couples and groups being steered outside the main room. Some of them had barely enough time to get most of their clothes back on. Once they were deposited with most of the party guests, they watched as the three elevators were filled with people, about ten in each one. He spotted a few familiar faces in the crowd - the group they arrived with earlier that evening, and even a disgruntled Leo Fiorentino. But as far as their prime suspects were concerned, he didn't see any of the high-profile couples from Southampton.

Just as the doors shut to the main room, he caught a glimpse of the gathering that remained.

* * *

They didn't tie up their hands or throw bags over their heads on the ride back. They were in the back of the same covered van, unable to see where they were coming from and where they were going. They were ordered to be quiet, reminded of the rule that they could not discuss the Wolfsbane Sex Society outside of those walls. Sitting beside beside her, Nick was ramrod straight, staring at the opposite wall and concentrating on the sliver of light filtering through a vent.

When they were released in the alley behind the art gallery, they were cautioned, again, of the strict rules of the sex society. Even if they thought they could get away with talking about it amongst themselves, the men who took them warned them they had their ways of finding out. With the threat hanging in the air, car keys and cell phones were returned. And then they left in a roar of black smoke and dust.

"Are you ok?" Nick asked as soon as they left, placing his palm on her cheek. Forget everything that happened just hours ago when she taunted him; he didn't care, he was genuinely concerned about her safety. He gently stroked his thumb over her cool skin, and she felt her body instantly warm to his touch. Amanda nodded. Pleased with her answer, he took her hand and led the way to the street where they parked the car. "Let's go home."

Once inside, Nick frantically searched through the car for any bugs. When the security guards said they had their ways of finding out if they broke the rules, Amanda had thought the same thing. She looked into the glove box and the passenger side visor; but, like Nick, she found none.

"I think we're in the clear," he sighed.

"You think they just said it to scare us?"

He shrugged as he pressed the key into the ignition. "I hope so."

Most of the ride home was quiet, partly because of the uncertainty in the the threat and partly because they needed time to wrap their heads around everything that had happened since they became full-fledged members of the sex society. Not only was it progress in their investigation, but it caused a shift in whatever it was that was unfolding between them.

"I have an idea where the club was located." His voice cut through the silence. "The men's bathroom had a small window about eight feet up the wall. I had to get up on the radiator to look through it and -"

"What did you see?"

"The Brooklyn Bridge," he answered. "And I know that area and I know the only buildings that go up at least forty floors are the ones on Pearl Street."

"Are you sure?"

"I know what I saw. I've driven over that bridge hundreds of times."

"That's good," she said with a nod. "That could really help us."

Amanda wondered if this information could be the ticket to finding her sister. Perhaps those set of stairs led up to where they were housing the people they were trafficking. She was itching to take the wheel, turn around, and save her sister from dangerous men like Leo. But she had to wait and she couldn't do it alone. Not without Nick.

"Before they dragged us out, you said something about a woman," Nick started. "What did you mean?"

"I overheard Leo yelling at one of the guards. He demanded to speak with her, and the guard refused, saying he only answered to her," she explained, planning to fill him in later with the other details about revoked privileges and broken necks. A wrinkle appeared across Nick's forehead. It was evident in his face that he was also repatterning his preconceived notions of who was running the sex trafficking ring. It seemed fair to assume that a man would sell young girls as sex slaves, even though this wasn't the first time a woman was the pimp. They both worked in Special Victims. They'd seen it all. They knew the improbable was still possible; they knew a woman could turn her back on other women and have no remorse for her wrongdoing.

Especially when a woman's motivation was revenge.

* * *

After returning to the cabin, Amanda went straight to work, hauling case files and notebooks to record everything she had discovered. Focused on the case, she never once looked back to see if Nick was still trailing right behind her. She practically slammed the door to his face when she kicked it closed with her foot. He didn't want to make matters worse by demanding an apology; so instead he headed to the bathroom to splash cold water on his face. His mind still reeled from the night's events. Although he had worked in sex crimes for several years, it was still difficult to wrap his mind around some of the things he'd just witnessed.

As he listened to the shuffle of papers just outside the door, Nick peeled off his shirt. A cocktail of perfume and smoke adhered to his clothes. He imagined men who cheated on their wives went through the same routine when they came home after a rendezvous with their mistress. He couldn't picture himself doing it; it seemed too exhausting.

He poked his head through the doorway to watch Amanda poring intently over a stack of files, two fingers massaging her temples. He could sense her frustration - one that always kicked in after one of these parties. He had a hunch she was on the lookout for someone in particular, and now he was quite certain she was looking for Savannah.

He wandered over to the desk and looked over her shoulder, scanning over the missing persons documents issued by Atlanta PD. He bent down, close enough that his breath kissed her bare shoulder.

"What?" She snapped as she slammed the folder shut.

Nick tried to read her icy demeanour - the scowl of her lips, the arch of her brows, and the stony glare of her eyes. If he didn't have what he had in his back pocket, he would've probably walked away and given her time and space to calm down. But as much as he needed to know about Amanda's sister, it was more important that she knew Savannah was there at the party and still very much alive.

"Is this case personal to you?"

The question was asked point-blank, and it elicited the kind of reaction one would expect. Amanda furrowed her brows and began to say something before she cut herself off. "Of course this case is important to me," she began. "There are girls from my town who were kidnapped and now being sold as sex slaves."

"I get that. Believe me, I want nothing more than to get them out of there." Nick paused. He needed to pick his next words right because he didn't want to give her any reason to push him further away; a defense mechanism he recognized in her in the month they had spent together. The silence in the room was heavy with anxious anticipation, until he broke through it with a deep sigh. "But you still didn't answer my question."

She didn't respond. Didn't even give him the courtesy of a glance as she returned to busy herself with her work. She pushed back just as he expected. He wondered why the truth about her sister was so precious it had to be locked away behind iron gates. If this was about department protocol and how she couldn't be involved in an investigation involving family, then she should've known better by now that he wasn't going to betray her. She should've known him better by now. He wasn't going anywhere.

"Amanda," he said softly, and when she didn't turn to look at him, he brushed his hand over her shoulder. "Do you want to tell me about your sister?"

The bitter ice shattered, but Amanda's face was frozen in shock.

Seeing her come to the realization he knew about her sister was all the confirmation Nick needed. It made sense why she had been lying to him since the day they met. He understood her reasons; and, honestly, he would've probably done the same thing if he was in her position and his sister, Sonya, was the one in trouble. The department would've had to physically restrain him before he allowed an investigation to take place without his involvement.

"Y- y- you saw her?"

"I think so," Nick said. "I mean, I didn't even know you had a sister… I met someone tonight, and I swear to god, she looked like your spitting image. She introduced herself as Savannah and I -"

Amanda dug deep into the cardboard box and pulled out several folders and then a manila envelope laid flat at the bottom. From inside, she retrieved a single polaroid and turned it around so he could study the faded image.

"Is it her?" She asked, voice choked up at the throat yet still laced with hope.

He didn't even have to look at the picture very long before he nodded. "Yeah. That's her. That's Savannah."

Amanda released a heavy breath, placing a hand on her chest to calm the storm beneath her ribs. She stood up and paced to the end of the room, clutching the polaroid and running her finger along its white edge. "Kim… Her name is Kim."

"Oh."

"How was she?" She spun on her heel and stared at Nick with expectant eyes, her bottom lip tugged between her teeth. She seemed terrified of what he might tell her, but she tried her best to keep it together. "Was she ok? Was she hurt?"

"She wasn't hurt." He wanted to get that out of the way to subdue some of the fear he knew was swirling below the controlled surface. But Amanda didn't seem to be less anxious. Instead, she stood there waiting to hear more from him. "To be honest," Nick continued, "she seemed fine considering the circumstances."

"You _think_ she's fine?"

"No, I didn't mean it like that." He raised his hands up in surrender. He didn't want to upset her any more than she needed to be; and he felt like a proper idiot for phrasing it the way he did. "She just - she didn't give off the impression that she was trapped or that she was scared for her life…. But I could be wrong. She was probably just working me." Amanda glared at him, her mouth twisted in both shock and disgust. Nick steepled his fingers over his mouth and blew a shaky breath. "Sorry. Not 'working me' but she was flirting… a little… to keep up with appearances, I guess."

"What else did she say?"

"I asked her where she got the name Savannah and she told me the story of how she was born." He watched as her cold exterior melted away slightly. Amanda shook her head and tossed the polaroid into the bottom of the box. Nick leaned against the desk and tilted his head so it was level with hers. "Is it true? About you delivering a baby?"

"Love my sister to death, but she's a notorious liar," Amanda said with a roll of her eyes. "Yeah, it's true; my momma delivered her in the backseat of my daddy's car, and I was there holding her hand. But my daddy managed to flag down a nurse on her way to the hospital. The nurse pulled out Kim; not me."

"Would've been a pretty cool story though."

Amanda ignored his comment as she shoved the rest of the folders back into the box. "Did she say anything else? Did she say where they're keeping her?"

"We didn't really have a chance to talk. She had a client requesting for her." Nick watched as her expression took a turn for horror. She looked ready to find this client - whoever he was - and put a bullet through his skull. "No, I don't know who he is. Another girl told her to head upstairs because he was waiting."

"Upstairs? You think that's where the underage girls are?"

He shrugged.

"What could they be doing up there that's so much worse than what we saw?" The question was rife with anger, followed by sheer terror. She shoved the box against the wall and it teetered over the edge, nearly spilling its contents had Nick not stopped it. Amanda ran her hands through her hair, pulling it up in a tight coil before releasing it messily over her shoulders. "Why would Kim have to go up there?"

She stared back blankly at him as if she weren't really seeing him. He called out her name a few times but she didn't respond. She just stood in the middle of the room in a dazed state, her fists clenched at her sides and her chest heaved in a sustained state of inhalation. Her body stayed that way until he called her a fourth time. She released her breath, sounding more like a whimper, before she darted out the door.

"Amanda!"

Running away was another defense mechanism of hers. While he had let her run before, he knew she wasn't in the state of mind to be venturing out on her own at this time of night.

Nick swung the door open, ready to run miles down the gravel and dirt roads to chase after her. But he immediately put the brakes on as he saw her shadow stretching across the deck. Fortunately, she didn't get far before she stopped. She was hunched over the railing, bracing her palms as her back heaved in rapid and shallow breaths. Nick treaded carefully, not wanting to make her jump. He reached out to comfort her and she instantly pulled away to clutch herself. The lines around her eyes deepened in her despair; the soft blue reflecting a sheen of tears. It was a vulnerability he didn't know he would ever see from her.

She shied away from his gaze, like crying in front of him was the ultimate sign of weakness. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hands as she tried to steady her breathing, a sob breaking through the quiet rustling of leaves in the summer wind. The next time he saw her eyes, they were blank and devoid of hope.

"Come here," he whispered, opening his arms out to her.

She shook her head, biting down on her lip to prove she didn't need him. And he knew that she didn't, but it didn't mean she had to do this alone.

"Please," he begged this time, like it pained him just as much to see her hurting for her sister.

Tentatively, she stepped into the space between their bodies. Nick wrapped his strong arms around her waist, pulling her in until she had no choice but to bury her head against his chest. Then it happened within that second he pressed his nose into her hair. The sobs took over her body and she broke down weightlessly in his arms. They were the cries of someone who felt a load lifted off her shoulders now that secrets she held in for so long were shared with someone else.

Nick held Amanda as she cried, stroking her back to soothe her until the only sounds they could hear were the rustling of leaves. He pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head before he pulled away slightly to gaze upon her face. Even with the mascara stains on her cheeks and the reddened eyes, she was still breathtakingly beautiful.

Amanda tried to speak but there was a thickness in her throat that prevented her from doing so. She pressed her lips together and looked down at the ground, her bare feet an ivory contrast against the weathered wood. "I'm sorry…"

"Shhh…" He lifted her chin so their eyes met. "Don't be sorry."

"I'm just — I'm so frustrated. I feel like there's nothing I can do." She extracted herself from Nick's hold and walked toward the other side of the deck. The moon was low in the sky, casting its light over the soft ripples of the water. Turning on her heel, she threw her hands up in the air in a sign of defeat. "I've known about this for months and she's still there, selling herself to these disgusting, rich assholes. And I've done nothing!"

"You _are_ doing something," Nick challenged. "You know where she is, and after tonight, we're so much closer to taking down the prostitution ring."

"What if we don't?"

"We will, ok?" He held her by her arms until her expression finally relented, and she gave him a solemn nod. "I'm here. I'll do whatever you want me to do to get Kim back home safe."

Amanda didn't say anything, but she interlaced her fingers with his and gave him a soft smile in gratitude. In that moment, Nick felt a lightness bloom within him, radiating from the center of his chest and ebbing all the way to the tips of his fingers. He felt like he was outside of his body, watching this otherworldly experience he thought he would never be so lucky as to be a part of again. He had only felt something as close to this once in his life. He was falling.

Blonde brows knitted together in confusion as she stared past his shoulder. Nick snapped out of his trance to turn and see the warm, orange glow behind a second-storey window in the Huxley home. It was almost dawn, so it was strange to see someone up at such an ungodly time. And then he remembered something. He remembered parking in the garage when they made it back from the art gallery, and how there was an empty spot where the midnight blue Lexus was usually parked. It was Grace's car.

Nick felt a tug on his hands just as the light dimmed. He turned back to Amanda and followed as she led him down the stretch of the dock. Along the way she dipped a foot along the surface of the water and kicked gently into the air.

"I let two months pass without communication from my sister," she confessed. He could tell she was afraid to meet his eyes, afraid that he would judge her; but he didn't. Amanda let go of his hands and wrapped her arms around her body. "Kim and I got into this huge fight about her ex-boyfriend. I wanted her to leave him because he was an abusive piece of shit; and when she refused, I threatened him so he would leave her. She found out and flipped out on me… I never checked on her once. There were even days when I didn't think about her. It was like I never had a sister."

"You didn't know what was going to happen."

"But I knew she was in danger… I knew after Jeff moved out of town, she'd have no place to live." Amanda sighed and stared out to the water. "I knew she was gonna get herself in trouble, and yet I did nothing to help her. I thought - if only, I could just pretend I wasn't responsible for her… I didn't have to clean up after her mess… If only, I could just live my life for once and not have to worry about the cops calling or my momma blaming me for Kim acting up —"

"This isn't your fault."

"—Why does it feel like it is?"

Nick stood behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist, urging her to release whatever pain and guilt she was feeling. He knew he could tell her again that it wasn't her fault Kim was taken, but he knew his words wouldn't be enough to convince Amanda what she had been telling herself for months. The only thing he could do was protect her from the worst that could happen. As he felt her settle into his embrace, his lips softly brushed over her temple. An unspoken promise he would do whatever it takes to reunite the sisters.


	16. Fidelity

**AN:** _First, I want to thank the people who reviewed last chapter. I'm sensing a drop in interest, but whatever, life goes on. I like writing so I shall continue. Anyway, this chapter has a section (I think you'll know which one when you get to it) that I've wanted to write for a while. In fact, I had the idea to write it before I even thought up of this story. This scene and another one, which is coming up in the next two chapters, were what inspired Hush in a way. So, hopefully, all this big talk doesn't leave you disappointed. Let me know if you like it or if you hate it._

* * *

HUSH

16\. Fidelity

* * *

Salt tangles in her hair splayed across immaculate white pillows like rays of the sun radiating from the clouds. Ivory skin, kissed with the faintest of summer freckles, felt smooth and supple underneath his calloused hands. Pink lips parted, breathing softly. The rise and fall of her chest veiled under the thin cotton of her shirt, riding up to expose the womanly curve of her waist. Her lithe body curled to the side, a hand pressed under her cheek and an ankle crossing over his. He traced her sleeping form, eyes as dark as the charcoal sketching her image into memory.

Nick didn't get much sleep last night.

His mind was at ease knowing Amanda had fallen asleep not long after their talk out on the deck. She opened up to him about her sister, telling him short stories of their upbringing up to their very last contact - a phone call in May. And for the first time since they met, he felt like she was no longer hiding behind a well-constructed wall of secrecy. She didn't have to worry about him telling on her because he promised her his loyalty. It was rough reliving those stories for Amanda, but he was relieved she found peace, even just for a few hours, as she drifted off to sleep in his arms.

Sleep, however, did not come so easy for him. It was true; he worried about the blame Amanda hung around her neck. The case, the missing girls, the safety of Kim were troublesome thoughts unceasingly pinned in the back of his mind, remaining there until this case was solved. But the one true reason he couldn't unwind and allow himself into an idle state was because of the emotions she stirred in him.

He didn't want to think he was going soft, didn't want to believe he was going crazy. But there was a definite change in the moment he told her he wasn't going anywhere. It sounded like he meant it as a fellow detective - her partner in this undercover operation - but there was a flicker of hope latched onto his words, a silent promise of endlessness.

Nick envisioned a life with her - a life beyond these assumed roles they were playing - and that was what kept him up all night.

"Creep," Amanda rumbled half-asleep, a smile curling at the corners of her lips.

"Sorry." Nick smiled sheepishly, turning his head so he was facing the ceiling. He wondered how long she had noticed him staring and studying every detail while his mind conjured up all these scenarios of life after living as the Santiagos. She was right. He was being creepy, but he couldn't control the constant cycle of thoughts of what it would be like to be with her. To be more than her partner. To be more than the man who pretended to be her husband.

To be _more_.

Her lashes fluttered as she opened her eyes with a dread for daylight. She closed them tightly and groaned, rubbing the sleep out of them and deciding to try again. The second time was more successful.

"What's on your mind?"

Nick glanced at his side to see a pair of ocean-coloured eyes fixed on him. For some reason, he couldn't keep her gaze and his eyes flitted down to her lips, before returning to the wood beams running along the ceiling. It was a safe bet, because, otherwise, if he had to look at her, he would've probably revealed what had kept him tossing and turning all night. "Just thinking about the party last night," he answered. It was a half-truth as his mind had drifted in and out of thinking about the sex society and the trafficking ring working below its well-crafted exterior. "I never expected there to be so many people. But I guess it shouldn't have been that much of a surprise since the party was thrown in Manhattan."

"Right," Amanda cried out as if having an epiphany. "You know the building!"

"Not exactly. I knew what street we were on, and we can probably narrow down the buildings with at least 42 floors and with at least three levels of underground parking."

"Ok, we'll figure it out and then we'll go." She sat up in bed and kicked off the covers. Nick caught a glimpse of her long legs stretched out against the sea of white sheets, and flashbacks of them wrapped around his hips sent a rush of heat throughout his body. It was the first time in a while they had worn clothes to bed; and even with her tee and the silk pajama shorts, she still found her impossibly sexy. And eager. To get this case solved, that is. "We can drive down there and find out who owns the space," she added.

"You know as well as I do we can't do that," Nick said. "We can't raise suspicion, but I can ask Liv and Fin to check it out."

"How are you going to explain it to them? 'We were at a sex party last night and we need you to follow up on the owner of the loft on the 42nd floor.' Nick, we can't tell them."

He sighed. She was right; as much as he trusted Olivia to have his back, he knew she would be obligated to report it to their captain, and in turn he would have to report it up to 1-PP. "I told Liv about Leo's college interns. I told her about Luisa," he confessed.

"Nick! You weren't supposed to tell!"

"I'm sorry!" He sat up so he could be level with her, seeing the panic etched into her eyes. "I didn't tell her about the club. I just told her about Leo… I'll tell her we're following up on a lead. We heard he was at this party and all his escorts were there. Nothing more than that."

"I'd rather go there myself."

"That's short-sighted, Amanda," he argued, but he kept his voice calm. The last thing he wanted was to be on the outs with her when she had just opened up to him. "If the woman running the trafficking ring turns out to be the owner of the place, don't you think the building manager would alert her that police are asking questions? And if it turns out she isn't, then we're still going to look suspicious for going back there and snooping around."

"How much do you trust your partner?" She asked with a worried expression.

"Olivia? I trust her with my life."

"Ok."

"Ok?" He raised a brow and received a reluctant shrug, but she acquiesced nonetheless. "I'll narrow down the buildings and check the views to see which one matches what I saw outside the window, then I'll give her a call… But first, I'm starving. I haven't eaten since noon yesterday" He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stretched his arms over his head, yawning audibly as the lack of sleep caught up to him. "I'm going to make us some café con leche and tostada."

"You can just say coffee and toast," she chuckled.

When Nick looked over his shoulder, he saw her biting her lip, her eyes roving over the expanse of muscles on his back. He smirked, leaning a little closer so he could whisper. "Mi cariño, no son lo mismo. Te va a gustar esto mejor."

"You can't do that."

"Can't do what?" he asked innocently.

"Speak Spanish all sexy and _then_ fix me up breakfast." Her cheeks warmed to a pink hue and she pushed against the bed with arms behind her, not unlike the way she arched for him when she was aroused. "You're making me weak in the knees, Don Juan."

"Funny," he remarked as he pouted his lips and brought his hand to his chin. "I don't recall you screaming out his name when _I_ was making you come."

"Shut up!" She chucked a pillow at his head and it hit him square on his cheek. Nick laughed, throwing the pillow back at her before he got up from the edge of the bed. He felt her hand wrap around his wrist, stopping his movements. When he looked down, Amanda's face was more serious than it had been just seconds ago, her mouth twisted in an anxious frown. "Nick, I —" she began, but couldn't seem to land on the right words. "—I wanted to thank you for last night. For listening. And for not freaking out and abandoning this whole thing."

He was lost in her eyes. Lost in those deep pools of vulnerability that were clear as the water on the shoreline. He had heard her shy expression of gratitude and the trepidation in her voice as the words slipped out both carefully and awkwardly. He knew it was a big step for her, and his heart told him it was a big step for them.

 _Them._

It felt like mental whiplash to think about the concept of the two of them becoming this single entity. This 'we'. This 'us'. There were so many thoughts running through his mind, he didn't realize he hadn't said anything back to her. As her hand slipped from his wrist and her brows furrowed in confusion and disappointment, he spoke faster than he could think his words through. Maybe he should've been as careful as Amanda.

"It's not a big deal." He shrugged nonchalantly as he retreated a step. Before he turned toward the stairs, he saw his attempt at keeping it casual had backfired. Instead he came off aloof, emotionless, perhaps even callous. She looked bewildered, almost like he had shattered the crystal lights reflected in her eyes.

* * *

At first, his nonchalance psyched her out. Amanda hated the idea that she could be reading too much into his kindness. He was just being a good partner, and maybe even a good friend. There was nothing more to it. So why did she feel like she was climbing up a rollercoaster, feeling the ticks of the wheels along the tracks, just to say 'thank you'?

Even with her nervousness and his frigid demeanour thereafter, it still didn't change how much she appreciated his caring nature and his promise of loyalty. Her thanks was a genuine statement and she felt like she needed to reiterate it, to show him it meant more than he realized. It was a big deal, and although she had no idea what reaction she wanted out of him, she felt like she didn't quite get her message across. So she decided to go for the tried and true way to show her gratitude.

Sex.

Amanda stripped her clothes off just outside the outdoor shower. The small gap between the thin walls revealed the back of Nick's body, his sculpted arms reaching around to lather his shoulder blades with soap. As she stepped into the shower, water rippling at her toes, she felt the hot steam embrace her skin. She watched as the water sluiced down the tight muscles of his back and dipped in the curve above his ass, whiter than the rest of his body. She smirked as she imagined Nick laying out on a nude beach to even out his tan. It seemed like such an absurd idea; and, now, she wanted to know if he would actually be up for it.

"Got room for one more?"

He quickly twisted his torso around at the intrusion, soap suds falling into his eyes. He sealed them tight and lifted his face to the shower head to alleviate the sting. Blinking profusely, he took all of her in; and she, him. Soapy water dripped from his chest down to his abdomen, her mouth watering at the sight of his masculine physique.

"Like what you see?" He grinned, turning around completely, his dick resting against his thigh but growing harder the longer she stared. She glanced up to see his eyes roving her body, licking his lips in appreciation. He reached out and grabbed her by the waist, pulling her right under the torrent of water. His hard body collided with hers, his hips grinding against hers. "You look fucking amazing wet," Nick spoke low, cupping her ass cheeks and pushing her harder against his length.

"I _feel_ fucking amazing wet, too."

Nick groaned, a hand traveling between her legs to feel the warmth coat his digits. The other hand slid up to her face, cupping her jaw to draw her in to an almost-kiss. His breath ghosted over her lips, eyes intense like he was memorizing her face. "I know, but I think I need to be reminded."

Amanda pressed her chest against him, her nipples hard as rocks as they ached for his attention. He gazed down at the swell of her breasts; and at the base of her stomach, his cock pressed against her skin, aching to nestle between her legs. Cupping his chin, she forced him to look her in the eye. She wanted to taste him. But first. She pressed her lips to his, allowing the fluidity of their surroundings to guide the motions of their kiss. It was hot just like the temperature, and sensual just like course of water down their slick bodies. They held each other's faces, concentrating on the feel of each other's lips, connecting at an intimate level that sounded off alarm bells in her clouded consciousness.

She sucked on his bottom lip and drew back with her teeth as she pushed him roughly against the shower wall. Nick's eyes flew open. But Amanda didn't relent, she crashed her body to his and deepened the kiss as her fingernails dug into his hips.

Nick's hand lowered to her neck, down her shoulders, and to her arms. The back of his hand skimmed the side of her breast, and it was enough for Amanda to moan into the kiss. She ached for his touch and he had yet to give it to her, and he knew exactly what he was doing. She looked up into dark chocolate eyes, begging him to provide some relief to her tender nipples. Nick smirked before he cupped her breast and lowered his head, taking the pert nipple into his mouth. He laved around it with his tongue as his hand squeezed her flesh. He did the same with the other side, alternating between licking and sucking the hardened bud. There was an aggressiveness about him, but he was still smooth in his movements, fluent in his adoration of her body.

Her eyes lowered to his cock, pressing hard between their stomachs. Her lust for him was shooting out of every pore, every nerve yearning with desire for him, and him alone. She sighed and threw her head back as his hands coursed up her back to press her tits firmly against his face. His tongue slid along her cleavage, swirling at the notch between her collarbones.

She parted her legs and her lips as she met him with another kiss. Standing on the tips of her toes, she slotted herself over his cock, so he was nestled between her folds. It felt so _fucking_ good, she couldn't help but lightly score his hip bones with her nails. He grunted into the kiss, burrowing his hips so he could slide against her slick heat.

"I want to be inside you," he pleaded breathlessly.

"Not yet." Amanda pushed him hard so his spine was flat against the wall and his cock was no longer between her legs. He groaned in frustration, and then arousal as her hand wrapped around his steel-like cock, teasing him with one light stroke. Her eyes never left his as she slowly got down on her knees. His breath hitched in his throat as he watched her skilled hands stroke him, coaxing out a few drops of precum at the tip. She blinked at him innocently, making sure he was watching every second, before she wrapped her mouth around him.

"Oh, fuck!"

She swirled her tongue around the tip before descending down the shaft, an engorged vein brushing along the roof of her mouth, his length hitting the back of her throat. With her fingers curled at the base, she continued to suck him off, taking more and more into her mouth with every descent. Nick combed his fingers through her soaked hair, letting her have full control; he just wanted to feel as much of her as he could. She could tell that she was taking him close to the edge as his hips pumped to meet the thrust of her hot mouth. His grip tightened around the roots of her hair as his grunts became louder. She teased the underside of the head with her tongue, and watched him throw his head back in pleasure.

One of the sexiest things she liked seeing was getting a guy off by giving him head. She didn't like to do it often, because she hated when men suddenly used a woman on her knees as an excuse to demean her. But for Nick's cock, she wouldn't mind playing submissive.

His fingers tugged at her blonde locks as she enveloped him further down her throat, her hand sliding from the base to cup his sack. She hummed, sending the kind of vibrations that never failed to make a man weak in the knees. He pushed the back of her head against his groin and he bucked into her waiting mouth. The weight of him in her hands was heavy, and she knew he was one suck away from busting. She drew her cheeks in, creating suction and friction that milked him to his release. Nick cried out a string of Spanish as his hot seed emptied down her throat, and she swallowed every last drop and licked down to the last trickle of cum at the head.

Nick's breath was ragged, a delirious smile plastered across his face. "Best. Head. Ever." He looked down as his hands went from her hair to her cheek, raising her up until she was standing. He kissed her passionately, tongues swirling to taste himself on her lips. Without breaking apart, he pushed her against the opposite wall. Amanda gasped as his finger entered her slit, his mouth descending down her neck. He planted kisses down her chest and abdomen as his finger, and then another, thrusted into her tight channel. She closed her eyes as she felt Nick's other hand skim at the back of her thigh, lifting it so it would rest on his shoulder. Completely and utterly exposed to him, she felt sexy when she should have felt vulnerable. But Nick had a way of making her feel so desired none of that mattered.

Heat blossomed between Amanda's legs as his lips kissed her clit, tongue darting out to swirl around the sensitive bud as his fingers curled within her walls. He held her eyes, watching as her back arched and her hips ground into his face. Her face twisted in rapture as her fingers coiled through his dark curls. She was wet for him. And it was all for him.

"Nicky… Oooh…"

The nickname lit a fire underneath him, and he buried his face closer against her damp skin. He stroked her lips, separating the warm folds before plunging his tongue in her sex. His thumb worked on her clit, circling the throbbing nub until she was gasping his name. Amanda moaned with delight as his mouth and fingers enclosed over every pleasure point between her legs. Every pass into her hole teased her, made her crave his cock even more.

Her heel dug into his shoulder blades and her hands pressed hard against his scalp. She tried to grasp onto his body in any way she could just to hold herself up. She begged with strained moans and soft whimpers, begged for release, begged to be filled up by the cock that was in full mast for her. He continued to tease her, lapping up the arousal between her legs like he had an addiction he was satiating. The sounds, the feel, the image of a man on his knees providing her with the most toe-curling pleasure had her in an ecstasy unlike any other. He twirled his tongue faster over her clit, sucking it into his hot mouth as his digits twisted and curled inside her.

"Mmmm… Baby, I —" Amanda bucked her hips against his face, clenching her tight walls around his probing fingers as her back arched against the wall. An explosion of liquid heat gushed out to his waiting mouth, letting her taste linger on his tongue and spill on his chin. She writhed against him, riding him down until the very last spasm and the very last shiver of her body.

The last thing she remembered, before he flipped her against the wall and fucked her from behind, was the hiss of the shower and the glisten of her own climax kissing her lips.

* * *

Giggling like teenagers sneaking out of class, Nick and Amanda returned to the cabin. She had wrapped herself in lush white towels, one around her body and the other one perched high above her head. He couldn't help but smile as he thought of how adorable she looked post-shower. Her porcelain skin was still flushed and her eyes were brighter than they had ever been. He kept peppering kisses on her bare shoulder as she tried to squirm away, murmuring something about how she needed to go upstairs and grab some clothes. He was having none of it though as he continued to kiss above the loose knot on her chest. His lithe tongue dipped at the valley of her breasts and she moaned in response. "You're insatiable."

"It's what you do to me."

"Ni—ick."

Her skin smelled absolutely amazing, like clean soap and the ocean air. He wanted to kiss every inch of her and spend the rest of the day in this dreamlike state of bliss. His hands ran down her smooth arms until he laced his fingers with hers just like they did last night.

"Nick."

She had uttered his name in whispers, moans, and cries as he had worshipped her sex with his mouth, his fingers, and his cock. From an intimate breath in his ear to a primal scream that shook the poorly constructed walls of the outdoor shower. He loved to hear his name from her lips, but his favourite was when it poured like slow, sweet honey, drawling out the one syllable as if it were a vibrato in a song.

"Oh, Nick," she rasped as she held his face in her hands. She pulled him up to meet his eyes, both sets of pupils blown in lust. "As much as I'm enjoying this, your phone has been blinking since we got back."

He turned around to see the iPhone on the coffee table and, sure enough, it blinked with the alert of new notifications. He parted, reluctantly, from Amanda and walked over to the center of the room. As he checked the series of messages and missed calls, which were all from Olivia, Amanda headed upstairs. He returned the call right away, hearing three rings before she picked up.

"Amaro, took you long enough. Where have you been?" Olivia wasted no time with superfluous greetings. He could hear the hustle and bustle of the squad room in the background, and for a moment, he missed it. He didn't really miss being on his desk and writing up DD-5s, but he did miss the constant action. Truth was, undercover work was usually a waiting game - an act to build trust with one's targets before taking them down in a blaze of gun smoke and glory. Or something a little less dramatic.

"Ah, sorry," he said, his voice lowered an octave or two. He cleared his throat, hoping it would help. "I was in the shower when you called."

There was a short pause before Olivia spoke. "That was forty minutes ago. Am I interrupting something?"

"What? What makes you say that?"

"Nothing. It's just your voice sounds different - deeper… huskier." He could already picture the look of judgment on Olivia's face. She wasn't acclaimed as one of the city's best detectives for no reason. "Are you keeping things professional?"

"Yes." And it was a bigger lie this time around than the last time she'd asked him. "So what's up? You and Fin checked out the Lawson Building on Pearl and Fulton?"

"Yeah, we just got back," she said, and he was thankful she didn't push further on his doubtful professionalism. "We checked with the concierge at the front desk and the log book states the 42nd floor was rented out for a fundraiser for Balkan refugees."

"Wait, are you sure this is the right building?"

"It's the one you sent me to," she said with a hint of irritation. "He let us up anyway; he didn't see a problem with it. Fin and I took some pictures of the space and it was empty. No tables, no chairs, no leftover paraphernalia showing any signs that a fundraiser took place there last night. But we checked out the kitchen, and apart from it being wiped clean, there were hundreds of bottles of alcohol left by the trash chute." He heard a series of new notifications on his phone and when he looked at the thumbnails, they were the pictures Olivia had just described. The space looked the same in terms of size and the marble floors looked identical to what he had remembered, but the velvet curtains lining the walls were gone. And all those plush Victorian furniture were missing. "Did you receive them?" Olivia asked.

"Yeah. Thanks, Liv.

"Fin and I saw the champagne bottles and thought it made sense for a fundraiser, but the numbers didn't add up. I think there were over 300 bottles of different kinds of alcohol. And you know what else was strange? The place was spotless when we came in - like it had been disinfected and bleached in every corner."

"What about the 43rd floor?" Nick asked, knowing that was what Amanda really wanted to know. It was where Kim had last been before they were ushered out. She was hopeful that's where they were keeping the girls, but after hearing about how they had cleared the space, he already knew what Olivia was going to say.

"Same state as the 42nd. Empty."

"Did the building have surveillance?" he asked expectantly. "What about the elevators?"

"Nick, we don't have a warrant because we're not exactly sure what we're looking for here," she replied, and he could tell that she was a little exasperated. "And there's no way we're going to get one after we found nothing —"

"But that's exactly it. Everything was wiped clean."

"—Missing evidence is not enough grounds for a warrant," she stated matter-of-factly. "I know you're following this Fiorentino lead, but Fin and I checked up on that girl, Luisa Gonzalez, and she says she interns for his company and she's had no incidences of sexual harassment."

"You can't tell me you believe her," Nick said incredulously.

"I could see she was lying, but I could also see she wasn't going to cooperate with us if it meant losing her position in Fiorentino's circle. We either had to let her go or arrest her for prostitution, and I'm sure you wouldn't have wanted the latter." Olivia sighed, letting a pause linger on the other line and allowing the background noise to fill the silence. He hated this. He hated that whoever was running the sex society was one step ahead, knowing exactly what to do to skirt the law and not leave a trail of evidence. "Nick," she called his name softly. He noticed the noise around her had dissipated and he had heard the slam of the door. "Look, I'm not supposed to say anything because Cragen said not to worry you until it's actually confirmed —"

"What is it?" He didn't like the sound of where she was taking this conversation. He had an ill feeling in his gut the moment she got up and found a private room to talk to him. That was never a good sign. "What did Cragen say?"

"The brass is pulling back on a number of UC investigations. Right now, it's mostly narcotics, but word on the street is they're going for sex crimes next," Olivia informed. "Cragen is going to fight tooth and nail to keep you and Rollins on this case until the end of the summer, but all these pullbacks lately have been on the commissioner's orders. And you know, if he says something goes, it goes."

"Thanks for the heads up." He groaned, rubbing his hand across his face. It was one blow after the next. The building was a bust and now their operation could go up in smoke just as they were getting closer to finding out who was behind the trafficking ring. He stared down at the ground as he wondered how he was going to break the bad news to Amanda.

"I just wanted to tell you because if I were in your position, I'd want to know," Olivia began, and he understood. He appreciated her telling him all this even though it went against their captain's instructions. "Nick," she continued, "I also needed to tell you because I don't want to see you wasting your time chasing this dead end of a lead."

His back straightened, eyes narrowing at no one in particular. "What?"

"Fiorentino. He's not your guy," Olivia said. "I've looked into him and dates when this prostitution ring have been in operation don't match up with when he returned to the US. So maybe he's involved now, but this isn't his brainchild."

"I know," Nick replied. He knew he should have just listened to Olivia and pretended all of this was new information to him, but his pride wouldn't let him play oblivious. "I know he's not running it."

"Then why did you lie to me? Why lead me on this wild goose chase?"

"Because he's still guilty! I know it!" He didn't mean to yell at his partner, but there was no way to take it back now; this wasn't something he could rewind and erase. He looked up to see the startled expression on Amanda's face. His partner's face. Olivia might have been his partner at the 1-6, but right now his loyalty was with Amanda. She was midway through combing her damp hair when she stopped, her brows furrowing as if to ask him if everything was all right. He sighed as he sank down on the couch. "I'm sorry, Liv. I have to go."

"Nick, don't," she hissed.

But it was too late as he had already ended the call. He had already made his choice.


	17. Ghost

**AN:** _Thank you to everyone who reviewed chapter sixteen. As always, I appreciate every single one of you who takes the time to leave feedback or a reaction. So, school started back up again, which is why my twice-a-week updating stopped. I actually had some parts of this chapter completed during my break, but I was only able to finish it this weekend. Also, I don't know if I should mention this but we're at the halfway point of this story. I have the synopsis of every chapter written out so I really plan on completing this fic, so hopefully I'm still holding onto your interest :) Read & Review!_

* * *

 **Hush**

 **17\. Ghost**

* * *

Feet propped up on the desk and a rubber band ball tossed in the air, it was just like any day in the office for Sheriff Ben Finch. The light filtered through the plastic blinds, casting horizontal shadows on the mountains of paperwork on his desk. In a moment, he would call his secretary and have her delegate his work among the station's fresh-out-of-the-academy officers, instructing them to leave the signatures blank so Finch could take credit. He threw the ball a little higher and hit one of the ceiling fan blades. There was a cracking noise and a plume of dust drifting from the fan, catching in the light and causing his nose to itch.

"Motherfucker!" Ben cursed as he vigorously rubbed his nose.

Like many of the people that crossed him, he chucked the object across the room where it landed squarely into the wastebasket. It might have been decades since he was the star of his high school basketball team - and his knees might have given out - but he still had that point guard accuracy.

The phone rang, but it wasn't the usual shrill ring of the black relic on his desk. It was the long, monotonous beep of the burner phone locked away in his desk.

"Finch." The distinctly female voice acknowledged on the other end of the line. He didn't need caller ID to know who was calling. "We need to talk."

Ben knew instantly it was the Madam - the woman he worked for and the woman who controlled him in so little as a few commands. She owned him, and he didn't care if she had him by the balls because he owed that woman everything.

"I just got word two detectives were searching the space we rented at the Lawson building."

He propelled himself from the office chair, his outstretched legs slipping off the table, causing him to nearly fall to the floor. "Wh- What? That's impossible!" There was no way security was breached. He and his team had been careful. Not only had they been as meticulous as they were at every party, they had taken extra precautions considering the volume of clients. "My guys did everything right, ma'am. They were careful."

"Apparently not careful enough," she said, voice cold as ice. "You're my head of security, Finch. You need to sort this out immediately."

"Yes, boss."

"I also need you to keep an eye out on Fiorentino."

"The bastard breaking girls' necks again?" he asked with a chuckle. He had witnessed firsthand how rough Leo could get with the girls; almost made the old sheriff look like a teddy bear in comparison. "Sure, I'll get Donnie to tail him. Might be a little hard on account of Leo having his own private security but —"

"I don't want any excuses," she interrupted. "And I want _you_ to follow him."

"Sure thing, boss. But can I know what I'm looking out for?" It always helped if there were any particular suspicious activities or people they needed to know about, rather than just following one of their targets at an ordinary day at work. Ben used to do it all the time with recruits. But ever since Leo used his own security team to vet the newest sets of recruits in order to get back to the Madam's good graces, Ben had a nice break from all the stalking. All good things must come to an end, he supposed.

"Leo called me the other day. He was furious. He said detectives talked to his interns and asked if they've ever been sexually harassed while under his employment. He thought I had something to do with it, but even I wouldn't make such a careless mistake to involve the police just to get some petty revenge. Not when his bogus internship program is in such close proximity to my operations."

"You think Leo tipped the cops off to get revenge?"

"I wouldn't put it past that son of a bitch," said the Madam. "But it could also be one of our clients. Perhaps someone working undercover."

"Like a confidential informant?"

"No. A C.I. would never have passed the vetting process." There was a pregnant pause before she spoke again. "I was thinking someone with more experience."

Ben thought back to the previous night. There had been eleven new recruits from the Hamptons chapter, and several more from various areas in and around Manhattan. The timing would've made sense if, indeed, the mole was someone from the latest crop of members. He planned to call his contacts right away and tell them to re-check every single new client they picked up last night. And he planned to do the same thing with his eleven.

Clearing his throat, Ben rapped his knuckles on the table. "I got you covered, boss. I think I know where to start looking."

* * *

Rows of summer berries in bright reds and deep blues lined the tables of Southampton's local farmers' market. Mason jars of organic preserves were on display alongside Mrs. Abernathy's freshly baked pies. She sold them whole in gingham-print boxes or in individual slices. Nick couldn't resist, eating a steaming apple pie off a paper plate as they browsed the market. Amanda was a couple of steps ahead, a wide-brimmed hat on her head and a dress that made her look like she stepped out of a page of an Anthropologie catalog.

"My, you look absolutely darling," gushed Grace as soon as Amanda met her at the patio for an early breakfast. With Grace's husband, Phillip, away in Ithaca for a speaking engagement, she invited the young couple to the house more often in the last few days. Amanda had warmed to the older woman quite quickly. But ever since Nick mentioned Grace's missing car the night of the sex party, Amanda couldn't help but be a little wary. It seemed so farfetched. Grace was a genuinely kind and generous woman, who reminded her a lot of her sweet grandmother albeit much younger. It seemed ridiculous to imagine she would be involved in the sex society. After all, this was the same woman who fawned over the subtle differences in Earl Grey teas over breakfast. This was also the same woman who gifted Amanda with the designer hat on her head.

It was Grace's idea to show them the farmers' market — a place brimming with fresh produce, artisanal jars of whatever one could naturally preserve, and the fishermen's morning catch.

Amanda turned around to catch Nick mid-way through feeding himself a heaping glob of syrupy cinnamon apples. He gave her a crooked grin as he chewed.

"Want to make cookies later?" she asked, stopping by a table selling layered baking ingredients in a jar. It wasn't a novel idea by any means, but she had always wanted to give these Pinterest baking ideas a shot; she just never had the time (or the confidence in her kitchen skills). She didn't have a single chef's bone in her body so she figured having all the dry ingredients measured out for her would make the whole process idiot-proof. Besides, Nick would be around. He looked like he knew how to put a fire out. "Come on," she playfully tugged on his arm. She loved cookies, oatmeal raisin especially. But she would be willing to go for chocolate chip if that's what he wanted. She picked up one of the jars and waved it at him. "It'll be fun."

"Yeah, you'll make a mess and I'll clean it up," Nick teased, scrunching up his face.

She leaned toward him, one foot propped up behind her and a hand hooked on his shoulder. "Maybe I'll make a mess of myself and you can clean me up after," she whispered, hoping it would bring back some of the memories of their shower romp just a few days ago. She heard the groan rumble from his chest and watched his eyes flutter shut.

"You're bad."

"You bet I am." She twirled, turning back to the woman behind the cash register. They exchanged a few pleasantries, Amanda's southern accent becoming more prominent and saccharine the more she raved about the woman's postpartum figure. After her brilliant performance as southern belle and traditional housewife, she waved her goodbye.

Nick held her hand, fingers intertwining and shoulders bumping as they weaved through the crowd and explored what else the market had to offer.

They were supposed to pretend to be husband and wife, to make it look convincing to the people in town. But, if Amanda was being honest with herself, it wasn't something she constantly thought about. In fact, it seemed as if the reminder would come out of the blue like a hard shake of reality. She wasn't _actually_ married to Nick.

It wasn't that they were good at playing this undercover husband and wife team; they were just good together. They were naturals.

Walking toward a dead end, at a shrouded corner between a display of cheese and cured meats, Nick pulled her flush against his chest. He rested his chin on her shoulder, lightly nipping at the juncture to her neck. "How much longer do we have to stay?" he whispered huskily, punctuating the question with a light tug on her earlobe.

Amanda shivered in response, placing her hands on top of his and leaning her head back to grant him more access. "Grace said she'll met us at the coffee cart at ten."

"But I want to get started on the cookies," he grumbled like a petulant, little boy.

She laughed breathily, twisting around while still remaining in his embrace. She looked up and pressed a chaste kiss on his pouting lips. "Admit it, you just can't wait to get me in the shower."

He smirked, his wicked plan confirmed.

On the other side of the display, a dark-haired woman scanned through the variety of hams and sausages. She wore a plain, checkered shirt and boyfriend jeans. On her shoulder hung a canvas bag full of vegetables.

Nick followed Amanda's gaze, recognition also dawning upon his face when his eyes landed on Teresa Romero - the sheriff's wife.

"There you are! I've been looking all over for you." Sheriff Ben Finch strode into the narrow corridor, his footsteps loud against the concrete. He took her by the elbow and pulled her against him. "I didn't say you could get out of my sight."

"Ben, I'm just here buying food."

"I don't care if you're out here washing the fucking Pope's feet. If I say you stay by my side, you stay by my side."

Teresa winced as his grip tightened on her arm. Behind her, Amanda could feel the deep rumble of anger rising in Nick's chest. Before he could leap over the table and attack the sheriff, Amanda pasted on a fake smile. "Sheriff, fancy meeting you here."

Ben immediately released his wife, his eyes darting around the makeshift shop to check if they had been seen. Amanda smiled innocently, pretending she and Nick had just wandered off to the far corner.

"This must be your wife. Hi, I'm Amanda Marsden-Santiago." She extended her hand out and before Teresa loosely shook it, she cast a tentative glance at her husband. "It's lovely to meet you."

"You too," Teresa replied meekly. She shook her head and stammered as she realized she forgot to introduce herself. "I'm Teresa Ro — Teresa Finch."

Nick let go of his hold of Amanda's waist and leaned over the display table. "Nicolas Santiago." He smiled, that usual charming grin, and shook her hand. "¿Estás cubana?"

Her face lit up, big, brown eyes sparkling like she'd just stumbled upon a new fried. "Sí. ¿Y usted también?"

"Sí."

Ben's face soured at the brief Spanish conversation, but his face plastered on a smile as Nick reached out for a handshake. "Nice seeing you again, Sheriff."

"Nick," he said, returning the firm handshake. "What brings you two into town?"

"Grace thought we should check out the farmers' market. She said it was the busiest during the summer months for good reason, and I can't say I'm disappointed," Amanda answered for him, lifting her bag full of purchases into view.

"You women and your shopping," Ben teased, sneering at Nick. He wrapped his arm around Teresa's shoulders and pulled her at his side, causing her to almost lose balance. He squeezed her shoulder and gritted his teeth. "This one right here is always disappearing off to go shopping. Can hardly keep an eye on her. Ain't that right, honey?"

Teresa forced a smile as she gazed up her husband's eyes. "Mm-hmm."

Checking the Rolex on his wrist, Nick gently squeezed Amanda's hand. "It's almost ten, babe. We should be meeting up with Grace soon."

"Right," she said, before turning back to the other couple. "We should have brunch one of these days." She kept her eyes on Teresa. The poor woman didn't know how to respond, her mouth agape and her body tensing. Amanda figured an invitation to get to know the woman couldn't hurt; after all, it seemed normal for people in the country club community to be inviting ladies up for brunch. "I see you have a lot of vegetables in your bag. I'm a bit of a novice cook myself, but I'd really love to pick the brain of someone who seems to know what she's doing."

"I - I'm really not that good —"

"Nonsense," Ben exclaimed. "Teresa is the best thing that's happened to my kitchen. I think brunch is a great idea. You two can trade recipes and Nick and I can talk sports, ain't that right, _amigo_?"

Nick squeezed her hand a little more firmly this time, his lips forming a tight smile. It wasn't her plan to have Ben come along, considering his wife was practically mute whenever he was around. She knew her chances of getting information from Teresa were shot to hell. But she couldn't rescind the invitation now, otherwise her ulterior motives would've been painfully obvious to the sheriff.

"We'll schedule something for next Saturday. How does that sound?"

Ben practically coiled his arm around his wife's neck and shook her in excitement. "That sounds perfect."

* * *

There was a queue for the coffee cart when they met up with Grace. Just as they expected, she was already there; but she didn't appear bothered they were a few minutes late, considering she was busy chatting with another woman. Her name was Christina - one of her friends from the country club. She was inviting Grace to be her partner in a doubles game of tennis later that afternoon. Once Nick and Amanda joined the two ladies, Grace excitedly introduced the young couple.

"This beautiful young woman is Mandy. The only daughter of my best friend in college." Grace beamed as if she were talking about her own child.

While they exchanged pleasantries, Nick scanned the area and recognized a few familiar faces from the town meeting. He saw local business owners, gossiping housewives, and even some of the guys from the firehouse. His eyes danced around until they settled upon a face he couldn't forget. But she wasn't one of the attendees at the town hall, nor was the farmer's market on a Sunday morning one of the places he imagined he'd see her again.

 _Jinx._

"Nick, did you say something?" Amanda asked.

"Huh?" Nick turned to see the three women eyeing him, confusion etched on their faces. He didn't think he had said it aloud, but he must have if interrupted their conversation. "I'm sorry… Would you excuse me."

And without staying long enough to get their approval, he began to approach the woman who had given him a lap dance. Her hair wasn't the fiery red it was the night of the party. She had it in loose, natural curls, creating a jet-black halo around her head. The leather and lace teddy swapped out for a t-shirt and a pair of cuffed chinos. Nick almost wouldn't have recognized her had he not remembered her striking hazel eyes set against her deep skin.

He was starting to close the distance when she turned around and caught him staring. Her lips parted slightly and her body stilled. She blinked a handful of times, searching around the crowded space for a quick escape. He saw her he shake her head as she mouthed 'no'. It was only when the crowd cleared to make way for her when he saw her retreating form pushing a stroller.

"What the —"

Nick noted the hushed chatter as Jinx rushed toward the exit. When he rejoined the women, he observed them and the rest of the people in line had their eyes set on Jinx. People covered their hands as they whispered; but amongst the buzz, he could hear the distinct, single syllable of the word 'whore'.

"Who was that?" Amanda took the bait and asked.

Christina rolled her eyes and pressed her lips in a tight line. "No one you should concern yourself with, dear. She's a home wrecker and a prostitute. Everyone in town knows she works at the strip club just off the highway. She's a stain in our community."

Nick and Amanda exchanged a look, eyebrows raised.

"Chrissy, you know better than to gossip," Grace warned.

"Please. You know as well as I do that child of hers deserves to be cared for by someone with a more respectable profession. If only she would admit the truth about the paternity, she wouldn't have to resort to selling her body to pay for her daughter's treatment," said Christina. She acknowledged the puzzled look on Nick and Amanda's faces, and ignored the disappointed look on Grace's. "Her name is Jessica Collins. She used to be a housekeeper of the Walkers, then she got fired when Victoria caught her in bed with Owen. Three months later, she's walking around town with a pregnant belly. Refuses to tell anyone who the father is."

"What were you saying about her daughter's treatment?" Nick asked.

"Oh right," exclaimed Christina. "Her three-year-old was diagnosed last year with leukemia. Poor thing."

"Dear god. That's awful," Amanda said sympathetically, hand pressed over her heart.

Nick tried to keep himself composed, but he couldn't help but think of his own daughter in that moment. It was hard enough being away from her while she was away in summer camp, but he also had to keep a low profile for this undercover job, which made it damn near impossible to contact her. He missed her terribly, even more now that he had been reminded of how lucky he was to have a healthy child.

"Are you all right Nicolas?" Grace placed a hand on his arm and tilted her head to study him. His skin felt clammy and he knew he wore his emotions on his face. "You look like you've just seen a ghost."

Nick forced a smile. "I'm fine, thanks… I, uh, I just can't imagine how hard that must be for a parent."

Christina scoffed. "Yes, it's awful for her child. But you really shouldn't waste your time feeling sorry for that woman. She really should be setting a better example for her child. Whoring herself is how she got into this mess in the first place."

"That's enough." It was the last straw for Grace. She excused their group from the conversation and told Christina she was no longer in the mood to for tennis later in the afternoon. The other woman was taken aback by the change in her friend's demeanour, but made no effort to apologize. Christina was staunch in her ways and stubborn in her judgment that Jessica Collins was a bad mother.

* * *

There was a visible change in Nick's mood ever since they saw Jessica at the farmers' market. It was only after they arrived back at the cabin when Amanda asked why he was acting so differently.

"Jessica is Jinx," he explained succinctly. "She's the woman who gave me a lap dance the night of the sex party. She was also the one to come up to Kim to tell her about the client waiting upstairs."

While the initial shock made sense, the reaction thereafter still didn't add up. Why was Nick in such a sour mood when he was so eager to get her home just moments before Jessica came into the picture?

Amanda pulled out a stack of ceramic bowls from the cupboard. She got on the tips of her toes to reach for a measuring cup, her fingers barely brushing on the handle to scoot it toward the edge. She felt a firm grip on her waist as Nick stood tall behind her, reaching up to get the cup for her.

"Thanks," she said quietly, watching as he opened the fridge to pull out the orange juice. He drank straight from the carton - a habit they'd both decided, earlier that week, was perfectly acceptable for both of them. "Do you want to talk?"

Nick stared at her as if she had grown an extra head.

Talking about feelings wasn't exactly in Amanda's repertoire, but she hated being in the dark. She hated not knowing why Nick was being so broody. She felt jealousy pull her in one direction, wondering if he had a such a strong attraction to Jessica that it made him feel that much more sorry for her. It seemed irrational. It was such a far cry from Amanda Rollins that she feared she was turning into the character she was playing.

Nick sighed and leaned against the counter, his hands slipping into the front pockets of his jeans. "I was thinking of Zara when they were talking about Jessica's kid," he said, releasing a deep breath. Amanda mentally slapped herself for not realizing it sooner. The pained expression on his face and the faraway look in his warm, brown eyes were manifested the moment Christina mentioned the daughter battling leukemia. He raised his shoulders, before dropping them to a hunched position. "This is the longest we've been apart, the longest I've gone without hearing her voice… Liv picks up my mail and tells me Zar's been sending me all these letters from camp and I—" his voice broke, and she felt her heart crush like glass for him. "—I miss her."

"I'm sure she misses you too."

He smiles wistfully, dropping his gaze down to the geometric pattern on the ceramic tiles. "I probably sound like such a wuss."

"No, you don't," she said reassuringly. "I've never seen you with your daughter, but I can tell you're a good dad. There's nothing weak about showing how much you love your little girl."

Coffee-coloured eyes connected with hers, and she felt like he was seeing all of her. There was something in the way he was looking at her - a deeper look of understanding, a moment of revelation, and a calm that surrounded the storm of her heartbeat. She pictured herself on the edge of a cliff with the wind on her back. She wanted to believe she had the wings to fly, but reality was a doomed descent down the rocks.

His stare was too much, so she turned away.

"Amanda," he spoke soft and low. "I don't think I could keep up with this assignment if it weren't for you."

Her mouth parted in surprise at the admission, lost for words on what to say in return. Part of her wanted to tell him that she had severely underestimated him the day they met. She had been stubborn, wanting a veteran undercover Vice agent for a partner. But, in the end, she was glad for the change in circumstance. It all worked out.

She smiled as if his comment didn't reach below the surface — as if it were nothing. She wanted to believe it meant nothing, even though her stomach felt light as air and her heart fluttered against its self-imposed cage. Breaking the silence, Amanda slapped her hands on the kitchen counter. "All right. How about we start on those cookies?"

Baking cookies managed to be a worthwhile distraction for both of them. Nick's mood had improved and Amanda felt like she could settle back into that comfortable groove with him. He wasn't staring at her with that pensive intensity, nor was he saying anything that implied their relationship was becoming more than sex. She didn't want to have to push him away, so she was relieved when things returned to normal.

Even though the ingredients were measured out in perfect proportions, somewhere along the way, Amanda had cracked an extra egg and Nick took teaspoons of cinnamon as tablespoons. Although the cookie dough was darker and goopier than planned, it still tasted delicious as they sampled what was left from the bowl.

Nick ran a finger down the bottom of the bowl and held it up to Amanda's lips. She kept her eyes on his as she tasted the sweet, raw pastry and sucked on his finger. She released it with a pop and licked her lips for good measure. He feigned disappointment, his bottom lip jutting out. "You left none for me," he whined, placing that same finger in his mouth.

Amanda laughed softly. She looped an arm around his neck and drew him in for a kiss. Her tongue slipped into his mouth, letting him taste the sugar and cinnamon. They both wanted it to last longer, but the timer on the oven dinged and forced them to pull apart. She tugged in his bottom lip, before finally releasing him. She winked. "See, I can share."

While she set the baking sheets in the pre-heated oven, Nick began to clear the counter of their mess.

"Hey, Amanda, can I ask a question?"

"Shoot."

"What were you thinking when Christina said Jessica should set a better example for her daughter?"

Amanda furrowed her brows at the question. She pulled the oven mitts from her hands as she leaned against the counter. "I thought Christina was full of it," she stated simply. "I mean, it's sad Jessica is working at a strip club _and_ the sex club in order to pay for her kid's treatments; but I don't hold it against her. She's trying, isn't she?" They were suspended in silence, each one calculating the other's reaction. "Why are you asking me this? You don't actually agree with Christina, do you?"

"No, course not," Nick said, hands held up to raise the white flag. "I asked because I can't stop thinking about how she made it sound like Jessica chose to go into this line of work. I just — I don't know if I believe that. She must've been so desperate, she was forced into it."

"Don't get me wrong, I do sympathize with her. I respect what she's willing to do to make ends meet, but I think it's pretty clear she has a choice in all this," Amanda said. "She can live a life outside of that sex club. It proves she's not forced into anything… She's not trapped like the other girls."

Nick let the water run over the dirty dishes until he finally turned the tap off. Wiping his hands on a dish towel, he spun around so he could face Amanda. "We don't know that for sure —"

"Jessica has a house, a job — Ok, so it's not your regular nine-to-five, but she has something else besides working sex parties. She can go out and take her daughter to the Sunday market. Yeah, she's in a shitty situation, but no one's putting a gun to her head and saying she has to do this."

He sighed. "I don't know. I just wish there was something I could do."

"Nick, you can't save everyone," Amanda blurted out. "Not all strippers and escorts are powerless women that need to be saved. I get that it's not some black-and-white, good versus evil concept you're so used to wrapping your head around, but —"

"No." He held a finger up to warn her. "Don't insult me."

"This is stupid." She raised her voice. "Why'd you even start this argument?" She stormed out of the kitchen. Her face felt hot, her fingers instinctively curling into fists.

Nick was hot on her heels. "I didn't start anything. All I did was ask a fucking question, because I wanted to see if there was anything we could do to help."

"Why?"

"Why?" Nick yelled incredulously. "Because we're cops, that's why!"

She marched up to him and shoved a finger to his chest. "Was the lap dance that good you can't help yourself from swooping and being her knight in shining armour?"

His jaw clenched and his eyes burned with a different kind of intensity. "Amanda, you know it's not like that."

"Doesn't matter," she announced. "Don't care either way. Just don't fuck up this investigation for me because you keep wanting to play hero to every single damsel in distress."

"Then what about Kim?"

Her eyes widened and her jaw hung from its hinges. She ran her hand over her chapped lips as she stared back at him in disbelief. "It's completely different…"

"How?" Nick retorted. "She could be in the same position as Jessica. She could be choosing to do this, too. Ever think of that?"

Her entire body felt slack; the breath from her lungs stolen in an instant.

"You said it yourself. Your sister always had a knack for getting herself into trouble and getting involved with the wrong crowd," Nick reasoned calmly. He seemed to sense her outrage, attempting to subdue the situation without dropping his point entirely. "Look, I saw her that night. She didn't seem to hate it any more than the other girls."

"You're judging my sister based on the five seconds you talked to her?"

"You're missing my point —"

"What _is_ your point, Nick?" She shoved him hard on the chest. Defensiveness had brought up hostility, and all she saw now was red. "Tell me! I don't think you realize what you're trying to say." She tried to get a rise out of him when she got in his face, but he closed his eyes and turned his cheek. "Kim was kidnapped and, now, she's forced to have sex with these assholes who think their money makes them invincible. And you're suggesting it's the same situation as a woman clocking in and out of a strip club?"

Nick tried to hold his hands up in surrender, but she pushed them away. His face was pleading. He wanted to drop the subject and call a ceasefire. But it was already too late.

"You don't know Kim." She spat before she headed outside.

"You're right," Nick sighed to himself, hand running through his hair, as the door slammed.

* * *

Amanda took off like lightning. She had no destination in mind, just an intention to get as far away as possible. Her legs carried her up the short flight of steps to the trodden path of dirt and gravel. She balled her fists to keep her fingers from trembling; unable to stop herself from imagining her palm flying across Nick's cheek. She couldn't believe he would suggest Kim chose to work for the sex society.

She was kidnapped.

She was a victim.

Picking up the pace, Amanda began to jog up the path toward the Huxley manor. Her sandals kept kicking up the gravel and the freshly watered lawn sunk underneath her feet. She wished she could turn around and grab her running shoes, but she knew she couldn't. Not if she wanted to avoid him. She couldn't see him. Not after he planted that seed of doubt in her mind.

She dismissed the thoughts as she remembered first hearing the news of the missing girls, then finding out her sister had disappeared along with them. The fear was real. Surely, she wouldn't have gone through all that panic just to find out Kim didn't want to be saved.

 _What the fuck?_ This didn't sound anything like her.

Amanda continued to cut through the garden toward the front of the house. She pressed her palms on either side of her, bracing herself between the walls of the garage and the fence. Her lungs were heavy, weighing down on that bottomless feeling in her stomach. She lurched forward, her arms wrapping at the front of her waist. "Shit," she hissed at the pain. The last time she felt pain in this scale was the day before she got her appendix taken out when she was fifteen. But this time, she felt it radiating everywhere. A spinning head and a storm brewing under her belly. If she could see herself, she was certain she looked green.

The blood on her lip left a metallic taste on the tip of her tongue. She bit down harder, finding some relief by diverting the pain to a part of her body where she felt she had some semblance of control.

"Amanda?"

Doctor Phillip Huxley rushed to her aid, helping her lean up against the wall. His grey t-shirt was sweat-stained, the cords of his earphones hanging around his neck.

"What happened?"

She licked the blood from her lip. Glancing up, she met his light eyes, full of composed consideration — the kind that could only be mastered after decades of medical practice. He took two fingers to her wrist to check her radial pulse and observed the rise and fall of her chest to check the rest of her vitals.

"You need to lie down."

"No, no," she resisted. "I'm fine." It wasn't a complete lie as stopping and leaning against the wall helped her stabilize herself. She already felt a bit better; the nausea remained but the vertigo had dissipated. She forced a weak smile. "I'm sorry for the scare, Doc."

"I'm serious. Let me take you inside. I'm afraid you're dehydrated."

She hesitated to give him an answer, her feet firmly planted on the ground even though the rest of her body was slumped against the wall.

"Please, Mandy." The nickname was spoken gently, almost as if Phillip was unsure if he needed permission to use it. So far, only Grace had referred to her by the nickname and only because she knew the real Amanda Marsden as a child. He guided her off the wall and allowed her to lean into him, a steady arm wrapping around her waist. "You're pale as a ghost. Let me help you."


	18. Betrayal

**AN:** _Hey! I can't believe I've made it this far and wrote 18 chapters, and we're only like halfway through. Just want to say thank you to the people still reading and reviewing. You guys are awesome. Let me share my bag of Maltesers with you. I really need to study because I've done nothing all day but write this, so I'm going to keep this brief. TW: rape. This was very difficult for me to write. I tried to write it several different ways, but it had to be done for the story. I'm sorry. Don't hate me._

* * *

 **Hush**

 **18\. Betrayal**

* * *

Forgiveness wasn't handed out for any of his apologies. Not for the ambushed apology he gave her when she returned the night of their fight. Not for the soft-spoken sorry that followed after he gave her space, and chose to bunk on the lumpy couch downstairs. Amanda had just looked away, blank expression on her pale face.

Nick was deeply sorry for what he said about Kim, his hands crossing over his chest and his eyes flickering with remorse. "I really don't want to talk about it right now," she had said. But he didn't operate that way. If something was wrong he was determined to fix it straightaway. But having been in similar situations with his ex-wife, he knew it was best to give her some room to breathe.

The following morning, over a Cuban breakfast he had prepared, he observed as she absently pushed food on her plate. He knew it wasn't his cooking because she always seemed to have an appetite, especially for breakfast. Even the box of doughnuts he picked up from the bakery remained untouched.

"Amanda, I know you're sick of hearing it; but I really am sorry." Even if he still had his doubts about Kim, it was unacceptable to air out his suspicions on her sister. He should've known better. Family always made things complicated. "I'll do whatever it takes for you to forgive me."

She heard him, but the proposition in the envelope they received days later was not what he had in mind.

They received another invitation with the distinct wax seal. The following day, a limousine and a nondescript chauffeur picked them up to take them about forty miles north to a lake house nestled in the woods. They sat in the backseat, Nick trying his best to memorize the route to their location; but the driver was smart, taking them through backroads that would've been impossible to find on a map.

The grind of dirt and gravel under the tires jerked them around the backseat. Their shoulders bumped as the champagne sloshed within their delicate flutes. Amanda steadied her hand as she sipped the pale, golden liquid. Studying the embossed note on the card, she drew in a heavy breath.

 _Nicolas Amaro,_

 _As a seasoned client of the Wolfsbane Sex Society, I welcome you to our family. This experience is unlike any other and I am delighted that you have chosen to bless us with you and your beautiful wife's presence. As a token of my gratitude and a gesture of our newfound friendship, I have arranged a ménage à trois for you and Amanda. I have invited an unforgettable woman who lavished you with attention in the last party. She will surely not disappoint._

 _I pray that you accept this gift. I believe you have the character of a man who has what it takes to earn the privileges bestowed only upon those most trusted._

 _All my best,_

 _Douglas Livingston_

"I don't think this is a good idea," Nick mumbled, keenly aware that the pulled-up divider wasn't totally soundproof. He already did a preliminary check upon entering the vehicle, relieved to find no cameras or recording devices. Still, his paranoia made him vigilant.

Amanda slipped the card back into the envelope and pressed it firmly on the lapel of his jacket. "This is our chance."

His shoulders slumped forward as he rested his arms on his knees. He locked his fingers tight, staring at the whitened joints of his knuckles.

"Nervous?"

 _Yes._ He didn't think it would be wise to make the admission, so he didn't answer.

"It's not the time to be noble —" she began. Her gaze flitted around their surroundings, the rows of trees outside whizzing by in a blur. He voice dropped to a hum as she leaned close to his ear. "If you're reluctant because you think you'll be hurting me, you couldn't be more mistaken."

He lifted his gaze to meet hers. He wished he could see the dishonesty in her eyes, but he was met with one-track persistence. She really didn't care if there was another woman in bed with them. To a lot of men, this gift was the ultimate fantasy; and he supposed, under different circumstances where he had a more established relationship with his partner, he would've been excited over the idea of a threesome.

Her indifference was unnerving. He wanted her to show him that she cared enough to want to possess him for herself. As stupid and sappy as it sounded, he didn't want to be shared. But it was clear that all she cared about was the objective of the assignment. She could detach her emotions whenever she wanted and run headlong at danger. The recklessness was both terrifying and admirable.

"Nick, I understand if you can't do this."

 _Can't._

The word was a challenge. All his life, he had heard it from his old man. _You can't do this. You can't say that. You can't look away when I'm talking to you. You can't save her, mijo._ The word was the trigger and Amanda handed him the gun.

* * *

The car parked at a mansion by the lake. Its stone and wood facade blended with the elements; its tinted glass windows cloaking the secrets inside. Beyond the pines, the sun descended, casting a warm glow over the picturesque scenery.

Lines of black limousines unloaded men and women dressed to the nines or hardly dressed at all. Amanda felt like she belonged in the former category with her black cocktail dress, the pencil skirt ending demurely above her knees. She looked like a blonde Audrey Hepburn in a sea of playboy pinups.

Young women in silk robes steered the guests into the spacious foyer. Twenty-foot high windows wrapped an entire wall, providing an unobstructed view of the sparkling lake and the lush greenery. Not to be outdone, the interiors were magnificent. A majestic stone fireplace was surrounded by brown Chesterfield sofas and tweed wingback chairs. Persian rugs laid on top of marble floors; and fine art and ornate mirrors hung on the walls. If Amanda hadn't know this was the headquarters of carnal excess, she would've thought this was the home of a cultured albeit reclusive billionaire.

"Nicolas, Amanda," greeted Nina, the gatekeeper. She air kissed them, her ponytail swishing as she moved. Her ebony hair was pulled back tight against her scalp, making her harsh features look knife-like. "Have you accepted Douglas' gift?"

Amanda placed a hand on Nick's forearm in an attempt to bolster him with confidence. He nodded.

"Fantastic!" she exclaimed. "Follow me."

They disappeared down the hall, past a series of closed doors with porthole windows. When they reached another open space with violet drapes and candlelight wall sconces, she pointed to a set of stairs. "Down, to the basement," she directed. As they descended down the steps and the stacked stone walls began to appear, Amanda felt a chill run up her spine. The dungeon made her feel like she was about to meet the fate of one of the characters in Edgar Allan Poe's short stories.

Nick tensed beside her and she reached for his hand, interlacing their fingers.

The gatekeeper stopped abruptly. "This will be your room for the evening. You'll find it's supplied with almost anything you can imagine. It's a sexual deviant's treasure trove," she said with a wink. Pushing the door open, she revealed a luxurious bedroom fit for any BDSM-loving couple. There was a four-poster bed with black satin sheets and fur throws. At the foot of the bed, there was a velvet chaise with a sloping back. Amanda pictured Nick's spine curving along its contours as she straddled him, her arms wrapped around his neck and her head thrown back in pleasure.

A light switch flipped on, snapping her out of her thoughts. A fiery glow illuminated the once-darkened corners of the room. And a breath caught in her throat.

"You like?" Nina asked, a sultry smirk on her lips.

Amanda turned to her _husband_ and watched as his Adam's apple bobbed along his throat. His upper lip shined with sweat as his eyes glazed at the sight before him. There were restraints, floggers, clamps, and even sex toys she never knew existed. Opposite the bed, there was a cross with cuffs where they intersected and ended.

Nick paled.

Sure, Amanda loved sex, perhaps more than the average person. Handcuffs? Spanking? Anal? Been there done that. She had even experimented back in college and tried a threesome once. When she realized she was much more into the dick inside her than her girl friend's tits in her face, she figured that would be the first and last time she would be sleeping with a woman. Nonetheless, she always thought she was open-minded enough to try anything once.

This would count as the second time, but she was willing to make an exception in order to get ahead in the sex society. If she had to sleep with Jinx, Jessica, or whatever her name was, then she would do it.

But bondage? She couldn't blame Nick. She felt the blood rush right out of her face, too.

"You don't have to use all the equipment," Nina reassured, sensing the couple's discomfort. "I understand this must be new to you. But, Nicolas, you'd be surprised to learn how pleasurable it feels to be dominated by two beautiful women. For now, I recommend using the blindfold and a rope to tie your wrists. Then you can work your way up to the cross."

Nick gawked at the restraints on the wall. He gulped.

"That's Crux decussata, also known as St. Andrews Cross," Nina explained. "It restrains you or your partner in a spread-eagle position. It involves a lot of trust. Do you trust your wife, Nicolas?"

He looked into Amanda's eyes for an answer. She stared back; vulnerability looming in those warm depths, but it was undeniable he was putting his faith in her. "I do."

The answer to the question had a double meaning, and she didn't miss it. His honesty was as evident as the heart he wore on his sleeve.

She knew she was asking him to put his job and his safety on the line by following through with the sex club. The fact that he was sticking by her, the fact that he was willing to do right be her just so she would forgive him — it was foolish. But she wouldn't stop him.

"Amanda, I've curated a selection of lingerie for you in the next room. You know what your husband wants more than anyone, so I hope you'll find the perfect set to entice him."

Nick chewed on his bottom lip. His hand gripped onto his wrist, wringing it out like he wanted to hurt himself.

"In the meantime, you can get undressed," Nina told him. "There's a robe hanging behind the changing screen. Get settled in and have a drink from the bar cart. I recommend the Absinthe. It helps with the nerves."

The gatekeeper placed a cool hand on the small of Amanda's back, guiding her toward the door. Before she left the room, she looked over her shoulder to see Nick running his hand through his hair. It had only been a little over a month since she met the clean-cut guy who looked too put-together for the assignment she had in mind. Now here he was, dark waves pulled in different directions and a coarse stubble shadowing his face. Even when he looked so lost, she was glad he still ended up being her partner.

Amanda ran back to him, catching him off guard as she collided with his chest. She placed her hands on his cheeks and kissed him soft and sweet. "You're safe," she exhaled, touching his lips and feeling the tension roll off their bodies. "I'm here."

* * *

Amanda stared at her reflection, stunned that she could even look and feel this sexy. It seemed impossible. She blinked a few times, pupils adjusting to the woman in her mirror image.

The black Agent Provocateur playsuit embraced her figure, emphasizing curves she once thought were too boyish, too athletic. The lace shot through with silver thread felt luxurious against her skin, glowing a blush ivory. A plunging scallop-edged neckline at the front and back, and cheeky panties covered her rounded ass.

Nina had outdone herself with the selections. But Amanda couldn't help but be immediately drawn to the classic lace playsuit and its matching black gown. It hung from the rack, candlelight peeking through the sheer fabric, just waiting for it to be thrown on.

"Beautiful."

Her arms flew to her chest as she stumbled toward the rack, reaching for the cover-up.

"Now, now, there's no need to be shy," said the masculine voice as he approached from behind. As his steps drew him closer, she heard the sound of ice clinking in a scotch glass. "Turn around for me, darling."

Bile rose in her throat. Amanda refused to listen to the command. She pulled the open edges of the gown over her chest, even though she knew the sheer fabric did little to conceal her modesty.

"I set this whole thing up for you. The least you could do is give me a preview."

"Doug?" She whipped around to face the older man. His shirt was unbuttoned at the top, purple tie loosened. The alcohol had reddened his face as if he had been out baking in the sun for too long. "Th- This wasn't part of it," she stammered, falling prey to the grave imbalance of power.

"It goes without saying." He shrugged, before throwing back the rest of his drink. He set it down on a side table and stalked toward her. Amanda retreated until she felt her exposed back brush up against the steel pole of the clothes rack. She reached behind her to stabilize her footing. "Hmmm… I thought you Southern girls were more courteous than this… More appreciative of nice men such as myself."

Amanda narrowed her eyes and he laughed, his palm planted on his paunchy stomach.

"Scrappy young things — I can work with those, too."

"You're disgusting."

He roared in laughter. "Can't say I haven't heard that before. Now, sweet, little Mandy, you agreed to a threesome so you're clearly not a prude. So I don't see what the problem is with me stealing a bit of your time to get to know you." His stare was predatory, a discrepancy from the forced innocence he laced in his voice.

"I have to go." She sideswiped him, but he held her back with a firm grip on her arm. Amanda wrestled out of his hold, shaking her arm free until he finally released her. "Nick is waiting for me."

"Ah, Nick… The doting husband…" he trailed off with a bitter chuckle. "Is that what's stopping this?" He pointed to the space between them, much too close for comfort for Amanda. "You'll help fulfill Nick's generic male fantasy of a ménage à trois out of the love in your heart... But what does he do for you? You really love him that much that you'll let him fuck another whore?"

"You don't know me."

"Exactly!" he cried out, fingers spreading on either side of his face. "So, stay. Let me know the ins and outs — the mystery that is Amanda Marsden."

Doug cornered her against the wardrobe, her back pushing hard against the intricate metal handle. It dug into her skin. Closing her eyes, she focused on the pain and the imprint it would leave behind. It was still better than confronting the pain of her past reliving itself before her very eyes.

His hot breath wafted over her skin and she felt her body lock with fear. It was absolutely frightening. Her heart pounded at a rapid rate, wrestling under an enormous pressure. She wanted to scream but her voice was trapped in her throat. She wanted to fight him off but her limbs were paralyzed. She wanted to run but her body had shut down.

* * *

The silence in the room could have swallowed him whole and he would have been grateful.

The longer Nick sat on the edge of the bed, drumming his fingers on his knee, the more his adrenaline escalated. It was mostly nerves. But that last kiss from Amanda had given him comfort, which strangely turned into a sliver of anticipation as he recalled that bone-deep satisfaction of all the times they'd had sex.

The door opened and in walked two brunettes, definitely older than eighteen but at least a decade his junior. They were dressed in silk slips that matched the robes the women wore upstairs. Fear immediately struck him. These weren't the women he agreed to sleep with. Where was Jinx? Where was his _wife_?

Picking up on his panic, one of the girls sent him a calming smile. Her attempt was in vain. "Don't worry, sir Nicolas. We're only here to set up."

"Set up?" He arched a brow.

The girls stood on either side of the bed, pulling out leather cuffs strapped around each of the four posts.

Nick shot out of bed like his ass was on fire. "What are you doing?"

"Relax, sir," the other girl said, giggling quietly as she pulled the chain attached to the cuff. It stretched taut, making an audible sound that made him wince. "Your wife's request."

"My wife?" Nick breathed out in disbelief. "No, no… She wouldn't. This must be a mistake. You've got the wrong room."

The two girls exchanged a look and giggled.

He backed away from them until he hit the wall, feeling something akin to a metal hook dig into his back. Before he could think, he turned around and immediately regretted it. He was standing in front of the Crux decussata, the bondage wall that would forever haunt him in his nightmares.

"C'mere." A girl crooked her finger, coaxing him to come closer. Nick reluctantly approached the bed. He didn't feel comfortable with the idea of his arms and legs being strapped onto the bed, but it still seemed like a better alternative than the sex wall of death.

"You can take off your robe now."

"I'd rather wait until my wife gets here."

The girls pouted, one of them toying with the belt of his robe. "Whatever pleases you, sir. But I think you'd enjoy it more with this out of the way."

"I'll manage." His reply was clipped, hoping they caught on to his agitation.

Following their instructions, Nick lied back on the mattress, the satin sheets slipping against the silk on his back. The leather cuffs tightened around his wrists, tugging his skin as they were secured. He stared down at his legs, which were still parallel to his torso, and felt a fleeting tide of security. _Thank god._ But that security left him the moment the girls pulled on his ankles. His chest heaved. "Wait!"

They halted their movements.

Nick tugged on his restraints to try to pull his head up, but it was straining his neck. The hem of his robe was already halfway up his thighs. If they stretched him farther, he would be exposed.

He hated it more than he thought he would. What made him think he would actually enjoy being held down? What made him think he would be okay with giving up control?

"Can we wait until she gets here?" he pleaded.

There was a knock on the door and the girls exchanged a look of panic. They scrambled to the side table and retrieved a leather blindfold and a ball gag.

"Hey," Nick warned, turning his face away from the offending objects. One girl sandwiched his face in her hands as the other slipped the blindfold over his eyes. "Not that. No. Stop —" The silicone ball pushed into his mouth and drowned out his voice. His teeth bit down hard in fear that it would choke him. He wanted to scream but all that came out were muffled sounds.

He thrashed his legs, expending all his energy in trying to retain that one last semblance of control. One girl straddled his thigh, effectively ceasing his movements. He wanted to get away but he had to stop kicking, otherwise he would've hurt her.

And there were worse things than being subdued against his will.

The cuff wrapped around his left ankle. Pulled taut, it stretched him out until his toes touched the post. They did the same on the other side with a girl straddling his leg to keep him stable, while the other secured him in place. Before she slid off, the girl rubbed herself on him. The heat between her legs searing his skin with a scar of betrayal.

 _No. No. No. No. No._

Nick repeated it to himself. His head shook. He yanked on the restraints until his skin felt raw, even when he knew there was no escape.

The door shut with a thud and silence filled the room once again. His body was on fight or flight, but it could do neither of those things. He was fighting a losing battle and he was starting to succumb to exhaustion when he felt her. He froze as he felt a light fabric skim over his legs and pool at his hips.

She hovered over him, overwhelming the last of his senses with the familiar scent of her floral shampoo — an intoxicating blend of honeysuckle and magnolia. He released a breath, feeling safe under Amanda's watch.

The familiarity washed over the tense coils in his body, relaxing him into a state of stillness. Fingers deftly untied the knot on his stomach, pulling the edges of the robe apart to reveal his nude body. She splayed her finger on his chest. The touch was magnified, sending currents through his body and stirring him to life between his legs.

He tried to pull himself up to get closer, groaning into the ball when he was acutely reminded of his bound state.

"Shhh…"

He forced himself to relax again, choosing to trust Amanda.

Moist lips kissed their way down his chest, pressing open-mouthed kisses on his abdomen, tongue licking the deep indentations on his hips. She placed her hands on his thighs as she slithered lower on his body, settling herself between his legs. She wrapped her lips around him.

Embarrassed that he still wasn't as hard as he could've been, he thought back to the last time they were in a similar situation. Nick had his fist tangled in her hair, his hips bucking gently to meet her stroke for stroke. The memory of her licks, her sucks, and her moans that reduced him to a trembling mess - it emboldened him.

She responded appreciatively, her wet mouth descending further down his pole before sliding up to give the head a firm suck.

Nick was a goner. He threw his head back into the pillows and clenched his fists.

She continued to give him head so good he almost forgot Jinx was supposed to be there. Where was she? Wasn't this supposed to be a threesome? Not that he would change a thing about Amanda going down on him, but something about the unexpected change of plans seemed off to him. He hoped Amanda had convinced the masterminds of this whole mess to leave the room to them. Yes, they appreciated the gift. But, no thanks, they would rather enjoy the room as _husband_ and _wife._

In the back of his mind, he knew it was wishful thinking; but he chose to believe it anyway amidst the bliss. He wished he could see her head bobbing up and down the way he felt her tongue slide and swirl down his shaft. He wished he could hold her, flip her around so he could taste her while she tasted him.

The restraints heightened his sensations, but _fuck_ if they didn't frustrate him.

Amanda's jaw slackened, taking him balls deep into her throat. He saw sparks behind the pitch black afforded by the blindfold. His muscles clenched as he bucked his hips into the slick heat between her lips. The rigid, animalistic thrusts mellowed out to grant her relief, as he felt her gag and pull away. Her mouth still wrapped around the head, lapping her tongue on the drops of precum.

She released him. A muffled groan escaped his lips as all he wanted to do was scream in frustration.

 _Don't stop. Please. Come back._

Smooth skin slid across his torso. She felt lighter than air.

As she laid on top of him, she kissed her way up his neck, biting into the angle of his jaw. He hissed. And she laved the pain away with a gentle glide of her tongue.

Nick inhaled as her hair cascaded around them, the fragrance of spring flowers and rain conjuring images of Amanda. He wanted so badly to be inside her. He was so close. It wasn't fair.

He felt her face hovering over his, lips grazing over him in anticipation. Her hands cupped his face and she kissed him fervently, tongue dipping into his waiting mouth to wrestle with his. Teeth nipped on his lips more aggressively than any other kiss he had with her. She tasted of stale cinnamon gum and cigarettes…. _Shit._

Pulling away and turning his cheek, he felt the wind knocked out of him. He was paralyzed in shock. This woman wasn't Amanda.

The rip of foil filled the silence in the room.

 _No. Please stop. Please._

The latex sheathed his length all the way down to the base. Her hands pressed hard on his hips, fingernails digging into his skin to keep him from thrashing. He shook his head fervently, his closed lids moist with tears.

She straddled him, wasting no time before sinking down on him to the hilt. Her pelvis rocked and ground into him, as she moaned breathlessly. Leaning back to grasp on his thighs, she rode him furiously. She panted. Each rise and fall of her body encasing him with more and more of her tight, wet heat.

He hated his body for reacting. He hated that he was so close to experiencing an orgasm he didn't want. He was sprawled in bed, motionless, as she took control and drove them both into climax.

She fell on top of him, their skin slick with sweat. Nick had never felt dirtier in his life. It was as if soot had masked him from head to toe — no, worse. He felt used and discarded.

But worst of all, he was unfaithful. And that made him feel worthless.

Crawling up, she settled by his side, her cheek resting on his shoulder. It was unwanted. Intimacy wasn't reserved for a person one despised. Nick would have preferred death. But death never came to those who asked for it, unless they had control, and he had lost that the moment he consented to this madness.

The woman softly kissed the shell of his ear. Her voice a melodious whisper, like a country song he'd heard ephemerally as he switched between stations. "Hey handsome."


	19. Done

**AN:** _I'm back for an overdue update. Again, thank you to all the lovely people who have left me reviews. I know I suck at updating, but I'm even more appreciative now of the people who are patient enough to stick around and read my work. Thank you. This chapter is going to bend time a little bit, so just keep that in mind when reading. To the guest reviewer who asked me what I'm studying, I'm taking up nursing. It's an accelerated program so everything is condensed and disorganized, but I like what I'm learning and I like having the immediate opportunities to practice my skills. I hate not having enough time for other things though. So, anyway, I know I suck for leaving you at a sort-of cliffhanger last time so without further ado..._

* * *

 **Hush**

 **19\. Done**

* * *

The red light of the No Vacancy sign gleamed through the stained curtains. The word 'No' flickered, wires short-circuited and messages lost in transmission. In a way, she felt much like the broken light, incapable of illuminating her body's dismissal.

 _No. No. No. No._

The word was strangled at the throat. His cruel hands around her neck and wrists. She turned her head to evade his lips, plunging at breakneck speed to nip and suck and bite and eat her alive like a cannibal. He released her throat and she choked out the first letter of the word she desperately wanted him to hear. Tongue on the roof of her mouth, but he had stopped her before she made a sound.

Pulling her knees to her chest, she leaned against the headboard and watched him get dressed. He pulled his slacks to his waist, the metal buckle of his belt slapping his empty holster. Its usual resident — a Glock 22 — perched menacingly on the bedside table, atop a copy of the New Testament.

All she had to do was reach with her right hand, pull the trigger, and it would all be over.

Her gaze fell to the swirls of beige and brown carpet and the used condom discarded one foot shy of the wastebasket. She recalled the wave of relief when he pulled out of her and his body fell slack on her bones. The nightmare was over, she thought. He sounded too breathless to go another round. And why do it again when he had gotten what he wanted?

It was never about sex. It was about power.

But the relief was not solely because he had finished. Part of it had to do with the only scrap of triumph she could hold onto. She held her control and didn't allow her body to surrender.

She was no winner, but she took that fucked up myth of victory. Anything to keep from pointing the gun to her head and pulling the trigger.

Fear and anger whirled inside her. She wanted him off. Nothing touching. His skin drained poison into her pores with every slide of agonizing friction. His grunts in her ear — _that's right, take it, little girl_ — had her restrained fists coiled in white-knuckled fury. And yet her body was betraying her, arousal blooming in the pit of her stomach, warmth spreading between her legs as the beast within her welcomed the invasion.

She cursed her body's betrayal. As he thrust inside her like an animal in heat, she concentrated on her mind's refusal to accept him. She sealed her lids from the image of his red face, sweat beading at his temples. Instead, she pictured herself running barefoot down a dirt path to the old swimming hole. Her baby sister trailing behind her, breath seized in her lungs as she gasped, "Amanda, wait for me."

Amanda kept running, feet flying over the edge of the earth, capturing the rope with her calloused hands before falling into the water.

She wondered why, this time, she stopped running. Why did she turn around and wait for Kim?

"Wait." Her head turned from side to side. "Please. No… No…" Her eyes were closed and her back dug into the metal knob on the wardrobe. She felt his hot breath on her skin, his hands hovering over her shoulders, set to restrain her.

"Relax. I don't want to hurt you." The voice was different from the Southern twang in her nightmare. Its volume soft as if there were truth to the promise. "It's ok… You're ok…"

Amanda's lids fluttered open, bracing herself for that nauseating sense of déja vu. And while she would have preferred to be almost anywhere else but in that room, she quickly realized her nightmare was so much worse than her current state. Doug stood close to her, but wasn't touching her; hands up to prove to her he was giving her space. His light eyes glazed with worry like he was a young boy staring at a porcelain doll he had accidentally broken.

"I'm… Shit, I didn't meant to —" He mumbled unsurely. He had no idea what had triggered her panic attack. "I swear, I wasn't trying to do anything I thought you didn't want me to do."

"What the fuck?" She pushed him off, suddenly finding her strength amidst the aftershocks of the flashback.

"Let me explain," he pleaded, voice broken and eyes begging for mercy. He swallowed thickly as he stumbled backwards to the arm chair at the corner of the room. He hesitated before finally deciding to sink down on the chair, its high back making him appear small. "I think I may have come off more aggressive than I had intended."

"You think?" Amanda cried in disbelief. She took a step away from the wardrobe, hating the feeling of being cornered. She should have known better, she silently admonished herself. "You're a pig. You wanted a preview."

"Yes, I wanted to watch," he confirmed, his hands cradling the back of his neck. "I wanted to watch _you_. Jesus, from the moment I first saw you in the clubhouse, as you were talking to my wife and her friends, I thought you were the most stunning woman I had ever seen in my life. I was so infatuated by your beauty —"

"Stop."

"No, Amanda, you don't understand. There's something about you… Some mystery in your eyes that keeps drawing me in, feeding dormant ashes into flames."

She winced at the poetry of his words. Doug slumped forward, his breath stuck in his throat at the gravity of his admission, like he couldn't believe he was baring his soul to a girl he barely knew. His face was earnest despite the line she had drawn between them.

"I suffered a heart attack almost a year ago. Doctors put me on this cocktail of medication that's kept me alive but numb inside. I come to these parties absorbing and revelling in these pornographic images, but the rest of my body is cold like I might as well be paralyzed from the waist down."

"I hadn't felt arousal for months, until the day I laid eyes on you. I was hard. So hard I couldn't bear it. I had to run out of that party, lock myself in a stall in the men's washroom while I stroked myself to thoughts of you."

Amanda's face blanched, her stomach turning in disgust. She couldn't believe what she was hearing.

"I thought I could have that again, have my virility return as long as I pictured your blonde hair and blue eyes and those pink lips wrapped around my —" here, he swallowed hard, his stare suddenly too shy to meet hers. "I thought I could feel like a man again, but it only happened that one time. Like some fucking fluke."

"And you think I'm going to give you a free show like you're some charity case? Are you crazy?" Amanda huffed. Her chest was rising and falling quickly, her breasts straining against the hard wire pushing up on her ribcage. "Why make me think you were going to ra —" she stopped as she saw the flash of denial and defensiveness in his eyes, and she whispered the correction like she was trying to placate both of them. "Why make me think you were going to have sex with me?"

Doug pushed his hands on the arm rests but didn't pull himself off the chair. He was rocking himself slowly as if steeling the rest of his confession. He didn't mean for any of this to be revealed, but he was terrified of what she had thought of him. It was clear he was ashamed, perhaps even remorseful.

"I wanted you to sleep with him knowing I was there watching, knowing it was all for me and not for him. That he was just some body while you were thinking of me."

"You're sick," Amanda spat.

He tilted his head toward the locked door, signifying she was no longer cornered. She could've left the changing room and returned to her _husband_ if she wanted to, but she stood still awaiting answers.

"I may not be a gentleman, but I'm not a monster."

She shook her head. Her hands clutched onto the edges of the sheer robe, which did nothing to conceal the outline of her body. Her legs were shaky and her heart still thudded rapidly, running on fear and adrenaline; but it had calmed somewhat since the nightmare. She had realized Doug was not the same man in the flashback. He was a pig — there was no doubt about that — but he was simply just a sad man grasping at the last threads of his fraying masculinity.

Closing the distance to her exit, she took one last look at him. He was hunched over with his head in his hands, his back arching in silent sobs. She almost pitied the man, but doused the thought before it could spark.

* * *

It was only when Amanda walked down the dungeoned halls when she realized she had left her shoes back in the changing room. The soles of her feet were no match for the cold stone, forcing her to hasten the journey back to Nick.

She was going to put a stop to this. She sensed his apprehension from the beginning, and while she knew he would find it difficult to say no to her, she couldn't live with herself if she allowed him to think this was the only way to infiltrate the trafficking ring.

There was no other plan right now, but this didn't have to be their only plan.

As she reached the door, she wasted no time, pushing it open to reveal the darkened room. Dim tungsten bulbs encased in antiquated sconces displayed the small differences. But, to her, they were the only things she could focus on. Evidence of the aftermath of sex all over the bed — rumpled sheets and loose leather cuffs under the wafting air of sex that lingered in the room.

At the farthest edge of the bed, Nick had his knees drawn up and his arms clinging tightly around his legs. His naked body barely concealed if not for the loosely laid sheet over his lap. His body shivered like a leaf in the wind, bottomless eyes staring blankly ahead.

Amanda followed his line of sight and she stilled, her entire world shattering around her. Nearly identical pairs of eyes connected, like mixing blue paints in different mediums. They looked the same in their casing, but once the brush stroked onto canvas, they couldn't be mixed; they couldn't be more different.

"Kim."

The name fell out of her mouth like it had been waiting on the tip of her tongue for months.

Amanda remembered the day she knew with absolute certainty that something was wrong. It was the April evening of her birthday, spring rain beating down on the windows of her one-bedroom apartment. She was so pissed off that her fight with Kim had been so awful that her younger sister had forgotten about her birthday. At the very least, she could've called or shot her a text message.

No contact was far from the norm of how they spent their birthdays. Tubs of ice cream and reruns of Beverly Hills 90210, daydreaming of a glamorous life that seemed more impossible than the possibility of their mother settling down.

Eyes wide, the lanky blonde rushed in front of Amanda and pressed her hand over her mouth. It was an unspoken instruction, and immediately the detective recognized her grave mistake. What if someone had been listening? She could have just blown their case.

But there was too much to process in that moment that the case was shoved to the back of her mind. Kim was alive. Her heart was beating so fast, and she knew that if she felt her sister's pulse, the rhythm would be attuned to hers.

Amanda's arms longed to wrap around the skin and bones of her baby sister, because it wasn't enough to see she was real and alive; she needed to feel her too. She settled for studying every single detail she could take in, eyes sweeping over the loose waves the color of wheat, the blush on her cheeks, and the bright blue of her eyes mirroring her own.

Instinctively, she took a whiff of the comforting magnolia and honeysuckle shampoo they've used since they were teenagers. This time, however, it mingled with another scent — a masculine, woodsy spice that delighted her when he wrapped his arms around her and kissed her senseless.

"Nick."

Her head whipped back to face the bed, staring straight at a man who avoided her eyes at all costs. He finally resigned to lowering his head, fingers intertwining on the back of his neck. It looked as if everything was crumbling around him and he was shielding himself from the impact of the debris.

"You didn't?" She whispered, and she wasn't sure to whom it was directed as she turned from the man who shared her bed to her little sister. "Please tell me you didn't."

Kim blinked like an innocent animal caught in the headlights, then she rushed out of the way. "I have to go."

Amanda gripped her arm and pulled her back to her side. "Did you sleep with him?"

It was venom on her tongue she craved to spit out. She felt an overwhelming weight in her chest, a force pushing and pulling. There was no solace in the rational voice in her head telling her this was just a job, and this was just par for the course of the undercover operation. She wasn't really involved with Nick so none of this should matter. But why was she in such physical pain? Why did she feel as if betrayal was an anvil falling to the earth to crush her?

She knew, but she needed to hear it.

"Did he fuck you?"

"Yeah. That was the arrangement," Kim replied with a shrug. "I thought his wife would be here but she never showed up…" She trailed off, cocking her head to the side and narrowing her eyes. The pause in conversation lingered until the realization dawned upon her and she stared back at her sister. Blue eyes raked over the black lingerie and the sheer robe, and in that instant, she knew the part Amanda played in this _arrangement_. "I have to go. I have another client waiting upstairs."

Amanda didn't release her grip; in fact, she had tightened it.

"Your time's up. If you want to see me again, you're gonna need to talk to Nina." Kim glared at her sister, hoping she'd get the message. She shook her arm out of the hold and walked toward the door, turning to Nick briefly before heading out. "Mr. Santiago, it was a pleasure."

As soon as she closed the door behind her, Nick's hands rubbed over his face. "I'm sorry, Amanda. I'm so sorry —"

"You knew," Amanda interrupted, careful with her words in case anyone was listening. Although they were told in the first party there were no cameras or microphones in the rooms in order to protect client privacy, she couldn't trust them. She looked back at Nick, her chest feeling tight. "You knew and you still had sex with her."

"I didn't know, I swear. There were two of them. Then I was tied. I couldn't see, couldn't call for help. Then she came and I didn't know. I thought. _Fuck_. I thought it was you." he delivered his answer like he had mulled it over in his head but eventually lost it in the panic. Pressing his lips in a tight line, he stared at the ceiling and blinked. He was trying to keep it together, but the crack in his voice couldn't hide his guilt. And his pain. "Where were you?"

"I need to go." She pressed her fingers over closed lids, feeling the wetness start to break through. She wouldn't allow herself to cry in front of him. Not here. Not because of this. "I can't look at you… I can't do this right now."

"Please," Nick begged, but he sounded defeated and he remained unmoved in his guarded position. "I can't do this anymore, Amanda. I'm done."

* * *

Subconsciously, Nick Amaro gravitated toward the broken wing women. The ones who had problems in their past. The ones running away from some ex-boyfriend or some father that had hurt them. He'd be the guy they'd run to, and he'd embrace them and protect them. He'd keep them safe from the demons that haunted them in the night, while the sounds of their heartbeats kept him safe from his own demons.

Nick sought them not as rescue projects, but a fulfillment of his most basic responsibility.

To protect and serve was not just a slogan stitched on the lapel of his uniform. It was the promise he made to the women he loved — to protect them from harm and serve as the faithful man who could prove trust was attainable.

When the women refused his help, refused to let him run his soothing fingers over the scars on their backs, it galvanized his resolve. The challenge lit something within him, and he knew he could not rest until he made it better.

He fixed. He healed. He kissed the tears on her cheeks when she cried for a good night's sleep away from the deafening explosions and the isolated screams that preceded death. Maria — the woman he loved and the woman he failed — her broken wings still strong enough to fly away.

His loneliness was a testament to his shortcomings, and for the last few weeks, he was content that it hadn't made an appearance.

Nick pressed his forehead to the glass, surveying the vast forest surrounding the lake house. Even if he broke through the window and ran out of there, there was no place to go. He was trapped in this house and trapped in his thoughts.

Thoughts of the woman who hurt him.

Thoughts of the woman he hurt.

And then he wondered if that woman was one and the same.

Amanda was strong. She was a fighter who refused to be saved, and he recognized that the very moment they met and she underestimated him. He gravitated toward her like he had this sixth sense she was running from something. Just his type, he thought bitterly. It turned out his instincts were correct. She was another woman he thought he could protect and serve; and even if it was only pretend, he almost believed he was getting somewhere with her.

Staring at his reflection on the glass, he hated what he saw. On the surface, nothing stuck out of the ordinary. But he hated the way his hair was pulled in different directions, hated the glaze in his eyes, hated the way his blood tinged his skin pink. He hated the confusion, the manipulation, the unintended betrayal.

Nick drew strength from the scars that made him a man. It allowed him to exist believing this old-fashioned mindset that it was his duty to be the hero. It was his job to martyrize himself at the first sign of a woman in peril. It gave him the perfect excuse that it was ok to be lured to the broken wing girlfriends, because he could be the rock they needed.

There was solace in knowing he had been hurt, but he was never broken. At least, _not broken enough_ that he could still love and be loved.

The days of the week blurred like the waves of heat exhaustion, swirling the straight lines of the horizon. He couldn't remember what day it was, only that it was July. Despite the canopy of evergreen that shrouded his view of the sky, he glimpsed the amber rays peeking through the leaves. It was the height of summer and he longed to feel the sun singe his skin.

If he could shed his flesh, white-feathered wings and all, he would. His skin felt like it no longer belonged to him.

* * *

Tennessee whiskey, the hue of golden hour, swirled in her glass as she lifted it off the marble. The bitter burn fruitless in its attempt to assuage the betrayal. But it didn't stop her from ordering a second, a third, and a fourth. The bartender was already giving her strange looks, which was quite a feat considering she was serving guests at a sex party.

Shouldn't she have been passing judgment at the couple dry-humping three barstools over?

Amanda supposed it could've all been much, much worse. She could've walked in on Nick and Kim in the middle of the act. It wouldn't be the first time she saw her little sister riding a guy's dick. When they were teenagers, sharing a tiny bedroom with twin beds spaced exactly two feet apart, Kim had no concept of boundaries. She brought half the football team back to their room to have sex with them, never giving Amanda any indication that the room was occupied. No sock on the door. Nothing.

She drowned the disturbing memories from bubbling to the surface, choosing to wallow instead on the most recent disturbance. She was so shocked and overwhelmed by the living proof that her sister was alive that it took her almost a full minute to make sense of what was happening.

Kim was leaning an arm against the wall as she strapped on a pair of platform heels that made her look like a drunk gazelle. Her hair was in disarray and her face and chest were flushed crimson. As she approached Amanda, the identical fragrance of magnolia and honeysuckle floated under her nose.

There weren't a lot of things the sisters had in common, but they had grown up on that particular shampoo and continued to use it well into adulthood. Even when they no longer lived together, it was one rarity that made them categorically Rollins sisters.

But as Kim neared, another familiar scent wafted in the air, and Amanda's nostrils flared.

Her eyes narrowed into slits as she glared at the unmoving and morose expression on Nick's face. He was too afraid to meet her eyes.

In that moment, the relief of finding her sister alive had shattered. All her hard work to build the case forgotten. She couldn't think. She could only feel the weight bearing down on her ribcage, a sharper pain piercing a hole right through her heart.

Nick slept with Kim.

He rambled apologies and excuses she refused to hear. There was a ringing in her ears as she scanned the room, eyes flitting back and forth between rumpled sheets and restraints. A silk scarf was strewn over a pillow and, nearby, a silicone ball with fading teeth marks.

Amanda looked up in time to see the pain in his face. He didn't intend to have sex with Kim. He was trapped and he didn't know who it was until — maybe — the blindfold was taken off. Amanda couldn't be sure. But did he honestly think it was her the whole time?

Her stomach twisted in knots at the thought that Nick hadn't been able to tell the difference. As he looked back at her with pleading eyes, shining with a coat of tears, she understood it was a mistake and all he wanted from her was reassurance that she could forgive him. But she didn't know what to do. It was all too confusing. She couldn't fight the urge to run.

It hurt too much it threatened to break her defenses.

She had to get out of there, before the realization that it was all her fault hit her between the eyes.

"This is your fifth," the bartender snapped her out of the memory.

Amanda raised an eyebrow. "I don't need you counting my drinks."

"Hey, I'm not saying you should slow down. Just making an observation." The bartender sighed. She leaned over the counter until her face was close enough to whisper. "I just know when people are drinking to have a good time, and when people are drinking to forget someone."

She offered a wistful smile, but Amanda's face remained stoic as she took another sip of her whiskey.

"You could have anyone you want in this room," she started. "I've seen hot, loaded guys checking you out since you sat here at my bar. Why don't you get whatever it is out of your system by fucking one of them?"

"Thanks for the advice, but I really don't need a two-bit psychiatrist telling me I should fuck recklessly as a coping mechanism."

The bartender laughs, and Amanda smiles in return.

"Fair enough. Just promise me one thing. Don't do any of the girls," said the bartender, her full bottom lip jutting out. She took a step back, her eyes never straying from Amanda's. "That would make me fucking jealous."

Amanda eventually finished her fifth drink but promised herself it would be the last for the night. She was already feeling the effects of the alcohol, but knew her limits between functional drunk and passed-out-on-the-floor-of-a-dingy-pub-bathroom drunk. She had learned her lesson the hard way and vowed never to repeat that mistake.

Surveying the great room, she noted the mix of well-dressed men in fine French shirts and Italian shoes. Top buttons undone and sleeves rolled up to reveal the slightest hint of their summer tans. Although the average age of the sex club's clientele were in the forties and fifties, there were quite a number of attractive men her age. And just as the bartender had mentioned earlier, they weren't shy about checking her out.

Women either admired or scrutinized her, especially with what she was wearing. She wished she could change back into her dress, but didn't want to risk running into Doug, even though she no longer thought the sad man was much of a threat. Creepy and pathetic, sure; but hardly the predator she thought he was.

Against the wall, there was a curved staircase, which remained unused for most of the night. While she was at the bar, she swore she only saw three men take the stairs on separate occasions. She didn't recognize the first two men, however she did recognize the third man — Owen Walker. She mentally filed this information down into memory, and hoped her intoxicated state wouldn't pose a problem when she sought to retrieve the information the following day.

One of the last things Kim said before she darted out of the room was something about a client waiting for her upstairs. Granted they were in the basement, she could have easily meant someone on this level. But Amanda's gut was telling her Kim was somewhere in the second floor.

If the secrecy about the second floor was any indication, it was probably the best bet for where the underage girls were hidden. It kept them out of view from patrons who had no clue about the level of illegal activity in their high-class swingers club.

Hopping off the stool, Amanda approached the foot of the stairs. She glanced toward the darkened hallway at the top, the shadows providing no clues. Tentatively, she took the first step. A firm grip around her arm halted her movements, and she was practically lifted and deposited back to the ground.

"Only elite members are allowed in the suites." The suited man's posture was ramrod straight and his stare was like a laser beam shooting above her head. "I'll need you to take a step back."

"I — What?"

"No need for that," announced a voice hoarse yet seductive. Amanda felt a hand on the small of her back, the heat permeating through the sheer fabric and onto her skin. She glanced sideways to see the bronzed and chiseled features of Leo Fiorentino. "She's with me."

The suited man stepped aside. "Good evening, sir."

Leo nodded once as he escorted Amanda upstairs, not saying a word until they reached a set of double doors. He pulled a key out of his pocket and entered the room. It was nothing like the dark and seductive rooms in the basement with their grey stone and jewel-toned velvets. Leo's suite was warm yet open, matching the natural landscape surrounding the lake house.

Across from where they were standing were glass doors that opened to a balcony overlooking the lake. Amanda felt an invisible force carrying her toward the view, and she disappeared behind the billowing curtains, taking in the fresh air.

Downstairs, she felt suffocated by the swirling emotions of hurt and guilt. Here, she could finally breathe.

As Leo's footsteps advanced, her body tensed. She knew to be wary of him. After all, she had learned of his history manhandling women. He was handsome, intelligent, and charming, but beneath the exterior was a violent man who inflicted harm in a purely self-indulgent manner.

Her training was telling her to walk away before he could continue on with the charade and guide her to the second level. The image of being cornered by Doug was still fresh in her memory, but even that wasn't enough to stop her from potentially making a huge mistake. She refused to listen. She had always been the person who adamantly believed she would never allow her past to haunt her and never allow trauma to embed into her psyche. If it meant numbing the pain at the expense of healing, then so be it.

It wasn't worth it to dwell on being a victim. Not when, time and time again, she believed she created the circumstances to be victimized.

Nick might have hurt her when he fucked her sister, but she hurt him more. And she wouldn't hold it against him now that he was done helping her, now that he wanted nothing to do with her. She held no ill feelings toward him. This was her assignment to complete on her own.

" _Bella_." His breath pricked her skin like tiny needles. He swept her hair over one shoulder, his lips inches away from her skin. " _Sei divina_."

Leo kissed her below the ear, so faint it felt like she had dreamt it. "Does Nicolas know you're here with me?"

Her heart was pounding in her chest, guilt coiling knots in her stomach. She hated feeling tied to someone; it meant they had power over her. She shook her head to say no, but shrugged a shoulder to prove it didn't matter.

Leo smiled mischievously. Cupping her jaw, he stroked her skin with feather-light touches. She closed her eyes to sink into the sensation. Her body felt good under his touch but her mind resisted, voices in her head warning her to slip away from his advances before it was too late.

Her eyes snapped open as she felt a sharp pull. Leo jerked her face forward by the chin and had her neck strained up to meet his unforgiving eyes.

"We're going to have a hell of a good time, my sweet Amanda." He kissed her hard on the lips, the bones of his skull smothering her, she feared he would leave a bruise. He pulled away abruptly, a devilish grin fanning across his face. "A hell —" he continued, slipping the sleeve of her cover-up down her arm, "— of a good time."


	20. Jailbait

**AN:** _Hey what's up, it's been awhile (imagine this in Zayn Malik's voice). So, I'm done exams for now, which means I can update. Half of this has been sitting in it's draft state for an entire month, and the other half I whipped out this morning. It's a relatively short chapter but it wraps up the events of the party so I figured it was a good place to end (also, I'm tired of writing about sex parties - weird, right?) Again, thank you to the lovely people still reading and reviewing. You guys are the bee's knees. For being so patient with me, I hope you appreciate the badassery showcased on the first part of this chapter. Before I spoil it any further..._

* * *

 **Hush**

 **20\. Jailbait**

* * *

Amanda wanted it slow.

The robe fell at her feet as the crisp evergreen air struck her bare arms, goosebumps rising on her skin. She felt Leo's lips on her neck inhaling and scarring like cigarette burns. His large, smooth hands slithered down her sides, the pads of his thumbs digging at her hips and drawing her body onto his until their shadows melded into one. He was so hard so fast.

"Slow down," she whispered, toeing the line between a command and a plea. "Leo, please…"

"Say my name again."

"Leo," she said, and he responded in kind by nipping at the swell of her breast. His teeth dug into her flesh and he groaned in pleasure as her body arched by its own volition. "There's no need to rush."

"I know. We've got plenty of time." He pulled away to stare back at her with eyes as black as tar. He slid his arm around her, running along the length of her spine to the nape of her neck. In one swift motion, he grasped her hair and pulled. "But I want to fuck you now."

Like a spoiled child who had never been denied in his life, he claimed Amanda for himself. His kiss was possessive — cruel and without any surrender of control. She felt like she was being suffocated by his darting tongue. She coughed into the kiss, and he chuckled, "Just wait until you're sucking my cock, sweetheart."

Amanda's body recoiled. But he wrapped his arm around her, their hips colliding and causing friction between their bodies. She felt him hard and straining against her hip.

Leo pressed his mouth to the inside of her wrist. It was almost a tender gesture had he not been muttering about all the different ways he wanted to fuck her. His eyes glowed, mirroring the yellow light from her bracelet.

"Do you know what I do when I see a yellow light when I'm driving?" He coiled his fingers around her wrist and gripped it so tight her own fingers were trembling. His teeth grazed the shell of her ear, before biting a little too hard on her earlobe. "I don't even think about it. I gun it."

Amanda's stomach turned. She needed to get out of there. This was a terrible idea, but she was convinced the risk would be worth the reward. After all, this wasn't the first time she had done something reckless and placed herself in danger in the name of an investigation. It had paid off before.

But there were times it blew up in her face.

 _Fuck._

She could be so short-sighted.

"Come on, baby." Leo sucked between her collarbones, teeth scraping the surface of her skin. "Where's your head? I'm right here."

"Leo." Her voice came out scratchy, and it must've turned him on because he thrusted his hips hard against her body. She pressed her palms on his shoulders, praying to god she wouldn't have to resort to physically pushing him away. "This was a mistake."

"No, no, baby. Don't say that."

"I have to go."

"The only place you're going is on that bed." His grip tightened around her as he swung her around. He backed her up until the backs of her knees hit the edge of the bed, static on her skin from the brush of Egyptian cotton. "Tell me you want this."

"I thought I did, but I'm sorry —"

His lips crashed over hers, his hands crushing the bones of her hips. He picked her up like a rag doll and threw her on the bed. His dark eyes were feral as he braced himself for the kill. Leaping onto the bed, he was startled to feel the mattress underneath him instead of a woman's body.

Amanda had rolled out of the way just as he pounced. She stumbled off the bed, taking a few clumsy steps backwards and putting her arms out to keep him from coming any closer.

Leo crawled off the bed and stalked toward her.

She looked over her shoulder and saw the door a few feet away. She ran over to her escape, hand outstretched to turn the doorknob, when she felt her other arm pulled the opposite direction. She yelped as he twisted her at the elbow, forcing her to face him. His rough hands rattled her entire body as he grabbed her by her arms. It felt as if her organs were shaking inside the shell of her bones.

Without a thought of repercussions, Amanda kneed Leo to the groin. She connected and he doubled over, his hands leaving her to cradle the excruciating pain shooting from his balls.

"You bitch!"

Taking her opportunity to escape, Amanda turned the door and ran out of the room.

The dim hallway had a series of doors on either side of her. They were all shut, muffled noises of sex reverberating through the walls. She kept running. She prayed Leo was still nursing his testicles the way she had left him. Even her kneecap was radiating in pain; she really must've hit him hard if it felt like she was forming a bruise.

As she reached the end of the hall, she looked over her shoulder one last time to see if he was behind her. The hall was empty. She turned the corner and slammed into another body. This time, she felt bigger, knocking the other person backwards until they both fell in a heap on the floor.

Amanda's breath lodged in her throat as she stared down at the doe-eyed girl staring back in fear. Cheeks full and button nose, the girl looked like she was barely in high school.

The girl crawled backwards, up against the wall, before she pushed herself up. The silk robe she wore slipped from one shoulder, revealing the outline of her breasts. She pulled it over herself and clutched her arms around her petite frame. Brown eyes darted around the hallway before she took one last apologetic look at Amanda. It was the kind of look that begged for this encounter to remain a secret. She turned the corner and immediately disappeared behind a door.

It felt like a hallucination.

* * *

Stewing over what happened wasn't going to make it go away. Nick felt thrown off balance as he wandered through the never-ending halls of the lake house. He fended off propositions, walking past women and men who tried to reach out and grope him. Their words went in one ear like garbled noise and came out the other; and frankly, he didn't care if he was being rude. Propriety had no place in hell.

Nick was focused on finding Amanda. He needed to see her. He needed to explain and tell her he was deceived into thinking it was her, and not her sister. He felt guilty. He wanted so bad to believe it was her that he suppressed those microscopic notions of doubt that plagued him while he was tied up and blindfolded. He should've known.

He should've trusted his gut.

He wanted to get on his knees and swear on his life that he never intended to fuck Kim.

He had worked on cases where the DA tried to prove a crime occurred because the perpetrator obtained consent through fraudulent actions. The term for it was rape by deception. In that moment, he couldn't remember a single case of rape by deception that didn't end with the defendant going to prison.

Nick didn't even know why he was thinking of the crime. It wasn't like he was a victim. He consented to the plan. He should've foreseen that no one in the sex society could be trusted. He knew that rape by deception wasn't what happened to him. He felt like calling it that meant taking the blame off himself, and he wasn't sure if that was the honest and responsible thing to do.

All of this could have been avoided had he been more adamant about other ways they could join the inner circle, rather than compromise the integrity of their jobs and bodies. Even though he wanted nothing more than to prove his worth and earn Amanda's trust, he should've stopped it before all this damage was done.

But, by no means was he blaming her for what happened. There was no way she could have predicted the turn of events. If she felt like she was at fault, the more he needed to see her to quash those thoughts.

Yet, the search for Amanda was proving to be an exercise in futility.

Nick dodged a crowd watching a circus act of naked women on aerial silks. There was a unanimous gasp as one woman unfurled herself from the ribbon, falling down at a rapid rate before catching herself a foot off the ground. The crowd broke out to screams and applause.

Nick turned the corner into a quiet area. Leaning against the wall, he set his hands on his knees as he tried to steady his breaths. He had surveyed every open space in the lake house and she was nowhere to be found. He was ready to break down every locked door on this godforsaken place.

"Hey, are you ok?"

He lifted his head, tired eyes finding the source of the question. Jinx stood in front of him, her arms crossed over her chest and her bottom lip caught between her teeth.

"Uh, I'm fine…" He straightened out, pushing himself off the wall so he appeared stronger than he felt. "Just a lot going on."

She smiled reassuringly. In that quiet moment, she wasn't Jinx, but Jessica. Her eyes shimmered with warmth, expressing genuine concern for his well-being.

"If you need a place to recover, we have quiet rooms. Sometimes, these parties can get overwhelming. There's no shame in needing an escape from all of it, especially after… um… what happened earlier."

"You know about that?"

She furrowed her brows. "About your threesome? Yeah."

"I thought you'd be the other girl —"

"What? Instead of Savannah?"

He nodded.

"Seriously? No, sorry. I mean, I was a little disappointed you hadn't chosen me after the dance I gave you last time. But, whatever, it happens…" She trailed off, chewing on her lip. Odd as it was to see an attractive woman appear so insecure, Nick was more distracted by the revelation that Savannah was a deliberate choice. "It was Doug. He asked for a southern girl just like your wife; he said that's what you're into. That was your fantasy."

"I don't remember telling him that."

"I thought that's what you wanted."

He placed a hand over his mouth and shook his head. "I — I don't know what I want."

Jinx chuckled softly, her long, fake lashes touching the tops of her cheeks as her gaze fell to the floor. She bit down on her bottom lip, this time less out of worry and more out of flirtation. "That's why you're here, ain't it?"

"Huh? Guess so."

"Is there anything I can do for you, Mr. Santiago?"

"Actually, you know what would help?" Nick began, "I'd like to know where my wife is."

Jinx' face fell, but she quickly masked the marginal disappointment with a smile. "Lucky for you, I saw her at the bar." She pointed a finger to the direction of the main entrance. "That was a while ago though. She could've moved since then… I know a couple of guys who've had their eyes on her so —"

"No, that's good," Nick said, not wanting to hear about other men interested in Amanda. He felt his possessive streak rear its ugly head, which only made him all the more determined to resume his search. "Thanks."

"Hey, Mr. Santiago," she called, stopping him before he could leave. She walked toward him, closing the distance between them. She looked around the room to make sure no one could hear her whisper or be close enough to read her lips. "I'd be careful around Savannah. She gets obsessed with clients, so if you didn't like your experience with her, I'd just cut her out completely. Don't lead her on… Don't even be nice to her."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"You seem like a decent guy," she said with a shrug. "I'd hate to see you get screwed over by a crazy chick. And I'm not talking jealous ex type of crazy; I'm talking the kind of crazy that needs to be locked up."

* * *

Kim's knees burned from the carpet. Her jaw was locked, lips wrapped around a man so she could take him down her throat. His hand was tangled in the beehive of her hair, guiding her up and down in an unforgiving rhythm. This was her third of the evening, but she closed her eyes and pretended it was the first.

She was surprised to learn that the handsome Mr. Santiago was interested. She thought she felt sparks the first time she met him at the party in Manhattan, but she doubted the feelings were mutual. It wasn't often they had a client so attractive, so courteous… so _perfect_. It was either they were kind, older men who looked like ass, or they were beautiful yet cruel just like the man who had her on her knees.

She usually didn't mind giving blowjobs because her clients would always tell her she was great at it. She'd have them coming back for more even when they could have one of the many _sluts_ working the parties. It was a skill she was good at. A rare thing when she was always playing second fiddle to her sister.

Amanda was the smart one, the athletic one — and as much as she hated to admit it — the pretty one. She made a name for herself in the big city, leaving Loganville in the rearview mirror just as she had promised herself when she was a little girl. She set her mind out to do something and she did it. Everything came easy for her, like she never had to try because everything just naturally fell on perfect, little Amanda's lap.

"Yeah, swirl your tongue like that…"

When it came to sex, the tables turned. Kim knew she had the upper hand. Not only did she have more experience, but she knew how to please and satisfy a man. They would never stray if she had her way with them. Otherwise, why would Amanda's high school sweetheart come to Kim to get laid? Why would Mr. Santiago come seek her out for her services?

She wondered if he, too, was a cop just like Amanda. It seemed unlikely. She'd heard of dirty cops sleeping with prostitutes on the job, but something about him was different. The way he made love to her was _beautiful_ ; it was nothing like the other times those aggressive pigs got their hands on her. He made her feel special, and he hadn't even tried to deny their connection when Amanda walked into the room.

Kim knew Amanda would be looking for her. She just didn't think she'd make it this far into the sex society. She honestly didn't think her sister had the balls to do it. She thought she would never have to worry about Amanda finding out. The plan was to work for the sex society for a year, make enough money, and return home to Georgia. Amanda and their mom would never have to know.

The man groaned, impaling himself to the back of her throat.

Her tearful eyes squeezed shut. She pictured the night's earlier events, being in that room with Mr. Santiago hard and ready for her. He was so beautiful, surrendering his control to her; not like the man looming over her now. This man was violent. After releasing his seed into her mouth, he would take her from behind and hiss obscenities in her ear. She usually didn't mind playing a submissive in bed, but this man had straight-up rape fantasies.

He was a sick man.

He pulled her hair back, snapping her neck up to face him. A line of saliva bridged between the head of his dick and her swollen and parted lips. She blinked, adjusting in the darkness to meet the icy blue eyes of Sheriff Ben Finch.

* * *

Amanda ran down the stairs whilst clutching the robe close to her chest. Somewhere along the way she had lost an earring. It was a real diamond, too, so it must've cost a small fortune. But she couldn't think about what she owed the department, not when she needed to get as far away from Leo as possible. She knew what she did would have repercussions. Despite last week's tantrum to get a meeting with the sex society's Madame, Leo was still high up the ladder. She wouldn't have been surprised if this would be the last time she and Nick were invited to one of their parties.

She scanned the great room. The sun had completely set behind the trees, the view outside obscured by darkness. Inside, people had lost all inhibitions. Naked and unfazed, they stumbled around the room, yelling in boisterous laughter. Drinks were flowing. The scent of sex thick like Southern humidity.

A dark head of hair appeared amidst the crowd. He turned around and his sad eyes connected with hers. For a second, she thought he looked relieved; but she wouldn't bank on it. Not after what she had put him through tonight.

But Nick advanced to her, his eyes so focused like he was afraid of losing her again. Her stomach uncoiled from its knots and she felt like she was suspended mid-air. He couldn't even get within two feet of Amanda before she launched herself at him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and clinging on for dear life. She didn't care if she appeared needy. She didn't care if this was a claim to safety. She was just so relieved to be with Nick.

He held her tightly in his arms, burrowing his face in her hair. She slid her hands from his shoulder blades to his jaw, pulling away slightly to press their foreheads together. His racing heartbeat was in synchrony with hers.

"I'm sorry," they spoke in unison.

"Amanda, no —"

She cut him off with a gentle kiss. "I believe you."

It was all Nick needed to hear. He closed his eyes and whispered something against her lips; she couldn't quite make it out. All she could see was this strong man right in front of her, revealing every last inch of vulnerability. He was hurt and she couldn't bear to make him feel any worse by telling him about Leo.

Remembering the man she left upstairs, Amanda took a quick glance over her shoulder to check if he was there. She had every right to be paranoid because sure enough, he was standing midway up the staircase, his hooded eyes watching them like a hawk. She took Nick's hand and led him out of view, casting one look behind her to ensure Leo wasn't following them. When he had stayed put, getting distracted by his harem of women, Amanda sighed in relief.

"What's going on?" Nick asked, concern etched in his voice. He looked her over like he was assessing a victim after a 911 call. She knew it wasn't his intention, but it made her feel small. "Did he hurt you?"

She shook her head.

"I swear to god if he touched you, I'm gonna kill him."

Her grip tightened around his wrist. "Nick." She raised a brow in warning. "I'm fine. Look, this whole night has been a mess. And I realized we've been going about this the wrong way."

Her fingers toyed with his bracelet. The small, circular light glowed yellow just as it did the week before. Choosing that option might have allowed them to run into Kim, but it wasn't worth all the pain. Exchanging a look with Nick, she turned the light red.

Nick took her left hand and did the same. If he had it his way, he would never be back for another party; but this would suffice. At least he could rest easy knowing they were only there for each other, not to be taken advantage of by anyone else. Their fingers intertwined and he raised them higher, pressing a kiss to the back of her hand.

"You know this means I'm never letting you out of my sight."

The severity of his statement made goosebumps rise on her flesh. Her first instinct was to recoil at the exertion of machismo, but she realized he had said it out of his own fear of losing her. He was so distressed by the thought of anyone causing her harm that it physically pained him to not be able to keep her safe. And at that point, she was so done being reckless. It was irresponsible throwing herself headlong into an investigation without taking her partner _and_ herself into consideration.

For the first time in her life, Amanda was letting a man save her.


	21. Assault

**AN:** _Hey! Nothing much to say except thanks to the people reading and reviewing. You guys are the best. Someone asked if Nick will find out what Leo tried to do, and I sort of address that here. Remember, Amanda's not an open book. It took years before she told anyone why she left Atlanta PD... So uh, yeah._

* * *

 **Hush**

 **21\. Assault**

* * *

Her hands were slim and skeletal, yet healed over with invisible scars from her youth. Growing up in the backwater woods of Georgia, the only way to amuse herself as a child was to play in the dirt and race to the swimming hole. Her older sister ran much faster, never hesitating to reach for the swinging rope and descend to the cool water below. Kim didn't have Amanda's courage. At least not when it came to death-defying stunts. There was that one time she ran to the vine and stopped abruptly, her heart beating like a hammer. She tried again and, this time, she jumped. Her hands grabbed onto the weathered rope as she swung toward the water, swinging back and forth like a pendulum. Her friends told her to let go, but she was too afraid.

She heard Amanda's voice drowned out by the teasing laughs, "Kim, I promise you'll be fine."

The skin of her palms were red and raw and she felt herself slipping inch by inch. The next thing she remembered was the burn of her palms and the jagged rocks catching her fall. There was a commotion all around her. Someone screamed 911. Bare feet broke sticks as they ran over the muddy earth to stand where she had landed. There was water around her, but even if she was on her back, it was still shallow enough that her face was above the surface. She felt like she was living outside of her body. She couldn't turn her neck, couldn't push herself off the ground, couldn't look anywhere but skyward at the canopy of Oak and Spanish Moss.

They all surrounded her with Amanda at the head. Her delicate hands swiped Kim's hair away from her face, identical blue eyes searching for signs of life.

Kim exhaled, eyelids fluttering before sealing the light. "You promised…"

As the needle looped through the fabric, Kim observed her hands. There were no scars from her fall; just a medical history of a grade two concussion and a vivid memory of the rope burning her palms.

Long after the fall, she didn't hold it against Amanda. At the time, as she was going in and out of consciousness, it was easy to blame her sister for egging her on to jump. Once she was awake at the hospital and she had heard Beth Anne scolding Amanda, she didn't bear any grudges. She loved her sister and would defend her to death.

Even now, knowing Amanda was getting in her business — Kim didn't want to jump to conclusions and put her sister in any trouble. She was aware her sister had the best intentions for her, but Amanda just didn't understand that the sex society was her livelihood. She needed to explain it to her in a place where she knew no one would be watching or listening. Best case scenario, Amanda would understand and let her continue working the parties; worst case scenario, she'd have to tell her boss that there was an undercover cop infiltrating the prostitution ring.

Kim hoped it wouldn't have to resort to exposing her sister; but she _really, really_ liked what she had going for her the last few months. Sure, she had to share a small, windowless room with teenage girls; but she was their momma. She sewed up the torn dresses, adjusted the hems to show off more leg, and cut the necklines to emphasize their boobs. She was the mother hen. Her superiors trusted her to keep them in line, but she didn't think of it like that; she thought of it as nurturing.

All her life she was the little sister. Finally, she could be the one the girls looked up to as a role model. She was responsible for these girls, and it gave her a boost of pride to see them all dolled up and ready for the parties. That was her handiwork.

"Savannah." A man stood at the door. He was one of the low-level security guys assigned to keep the girls in the house. She honestly couldn't remember his name. Was it Joey? Jimmy? Johnny? He was always ogling the freckle-faced 14-year-old when he knew the girls were off-limits to everyone but a select list of clients. "We need you to go to town to grab some food."

"Why don't you get one of your boys to do it? Can't you see I'm busy."

"Don't be mouthin' off."

Kim ignored him and continued to sew the strap of the dress. Whoever had Erica last night had been rough with her. The young girl's fair skin doing no favours to hide the purple bruises on her arms and thighs.

"C'mon. Look, I'll even throw in a 20 so you can buy yourself some of that iced tea you like."

"Fine." Kim rolled her eyes and set the garment aside. Today, she wanted to stay in and finish her work. But she didn't want to be difficult and have her (unauthorized) privileges taken away from her. "But I swear to god, I'm not buying any more protein powder."

He tried to cup her face but she slapped his hand away. "Let me show you my gains, babe, and maybe you'll change your mind."

"I ain't into meatheads."

"Who is it now? Who's the prince charming this week?" He rolled his eyes and groaned. "Every week, Sav, you've got a new guy that you swear is gonna leave his wife for you. Hate to break it to you, but your pussy ain't that good."

"Shut up."

"Did I hurt your little feelings?"

"No. And you're wrong about this guy. I'm sure he doesn't love his wife… I don't even think they're really married."

He roared in laughter, one hand planted over his beer gut and the other plastered over his face. "Damn, girl, you really are fucking delusional."

* * *

"You called and asked to meet with me in person. I figured it must be urgent."

Sitting in the driver's seat of her car, Olivia nursed a steaming cup of coffee. She had parked in an empty lot beside a diner, a few miles off a highway exit on the 495. She thought she would meet her partner inside and enjoy a breakfast of eggs over easy on slightly burnt toast. Instead, before she could turn off the engine, her partner was climbing into the passenger seat with two take-out coffee cups.

"I'm sorry for delaying breakfast," Nick said as if he could read her mind. He was staring out the windshield, contemplating the next word that would come out of his mouth. He seemed on edge, his body swaying while his hands fidgeted with the paper cup. He exhaled deeply and closed his eyes. "I think I was assaulted."

"Wait, what?"

"I — I don't know. It was a confusing situation. One second I think I know what I'm getting myself into, and the next thing I know it's Amanda's sister having sex with me instead of her. There were blindfolds. And my hands were tied up. She smelled like Amanda's shampoo. I swear to god, Liv, I thought it was her. Then she walked in and I could see that I hurt her. I thought she'd never forgive me and she said she didn't blame me, but I don't know if I believe her. I didn't mean to do it. I didn't want Kim to do it. Fuck. It was never supposed to happen. It was never —"

"Nick, slow down."

Olivia tried to piece together what he was saying, but it didn't make much sense to her. After the phone calls and text messages with her partner, she suspected his relationship with Amanda was crossing a professional boundary. She trusted him to be careful and discreet, so she chose not to blow the whistle on them. However, the fact that he now confirmed he had a sexual relationship with Amanda turned out to be negligible. There were more pressing issues that needed to be addressed.

"Amanda was pursuing this investigation to get her sister out of the trafficking ring."

Olivia listened as Nick recounted the events that led to the most recent sex party. All she could do was shake her head when she heard about the Wolfsbane Sex Society. It was foolish of the younger detectives to think they could be a part of it without running into some serious problems. Her first instinct was to reprimand her partner for allowing the investigation to go off the rails, but she held her tongue. If she was being honest with herself, this was a move she would have easily done with Elliot back in the day.

When he got to the part about the planned threesome, she could see why Nick was in a quandary. He consented to it and didn't resist up until a point, and for that he felt guilty and deserving of Amanda's disapproval. But the circumstances were muddied with deceit. Nick was duped into thinking he would be with Amanda when, instead, they sent in Kim.

It was a complicated situation; however, at the end of the day, Nick felt used and damaged. He didn't use those exact words when he rehashed the details of that night, but she could read it in his body language. She could see the tears well up in his eyes.

"Nick, if you want to press charges… If you want out, just say so."

He shook his head. "No, no. I can't. We're so close, Liv. Last night, Amanda saw one of the underage girls. We know they're at the parties… We just need a little more time to build a case then we can do the raid."

"I can't let you go back. It's not safe."

"It's not gonna happen again," he assured her. "We promised each other we'd stick together this time. We're not getting pulled into one of their fucked up ploys, ok?"

Olivia thought she could spend all day begging him to reconsider, but she knew he would never change his mind. Not for Amanda. She could sense that he wasn't totally sold on the plan, but he wasn't going to do anything to stop her. It was clear he wasn't seeing straight. Whatever was going on between them was affecting his work. She recognized it because she felt she was often in the same position with her old partner; the only difference was she never got the definite confirmation that the feeling was mutual.

"Why'd you call?" she asked. "If you don't need me to talk you off the ledge, then you must need me to do something else."

"Where are you with Leo Fiorentino?"

"We don't have much on the interns, but we found evidence of fraud and tax evasion. The mayor's up for re-election and he wants to present a platform on being tough on white collar crime. If they arrest him, I doubt the judge is going to be lenient with bail."

"He's got deep pockets. That's not enough to keep him away."

"He's already failed to appear in court once. If he makes bail, there's no way he's not getting round-the-clock surveillance. Fiorentino wouldn't dare set foot in one of these parties; no way the Madame behind this operation is going to let him do that."

Nick glided his finger over his bottom lip as he thought it over. Finally, he released a resigned breath. "How soon can we arrest him?"

"All I have to do is make one phone call."

"Thanks, Liv." He sighed and leaned back on the seat, looking as if part of his burdens was off his shoulders. "I mean it. I really appreciate you being here."

She reached over the console and squeezed his hand. "You know I'd never leave you out on the lurch."

"I know…" He pressed his lips together in a tight frown. He tilted his head sideways, casting a glance at his partner. "I thought I could bottle it all in and it would go away, but I couldn't sleep at all last night. I waited for morning, hoping that talking to Amanda would somehow make me feel better; but the closer we got to sunup, I was dreading it. I couldn't do it. I couldn't tell her. If I told Amanda how much I hated her sister, I knew it would break her heart."

Olivia squeezed his hand one last time before letting go.

"Do you love her?"

She asked the question point-blank. His eyes widened and his jaw clenched. He didn't say anything. He didn't need to say anything.

She knew.

* * *

Nick's side of the bed was cold by the time Amanda woke up. She thought about calling him, but wasn't sure what to say. After what happened at the party the night before, they had barely uttered a word to each other. He asked a few questions about where she went after she left the basement, but when she deflected from the conversation, he stopped. Besides, it wasn't like he was in the mood to talk.

After her morning run, Amanda made a bold attempt at making poached eggs on avocado toast. Spreading the avocado on the bread wasn't a problem, but poaching eggs was another story. After breaking her third yolk, she decided replicating trendy brunch items just wasn't in her wheelhouse. She ate breakfast alone, watching as the food on Nick's plate got cold.

By hour four of Nick gone, she felt a little anxious. It seemed silly to worry about him, especially when she knew she could just call him. The case files on the desk were a constant reminder of how far she had been willing to go in pursuit of the investigation. As she stored them away in boxes, she wondered how Nick felt. He said he would never hold anything against her, but she wasn't sure if she truly believed him. There must've been a part of him that held onto the belief that none of it would've happened if it hadn't been for her.

At half past noon, Grace and Phillip swung by to invite them for lunch. She wasn't sure what to tell the older couple when they asked about her husband's whereabouts. She lied, telling them Nick had to drive to the city to meet with their realtor. When asked why she didn't join him, she said she wasn't feeling well, to which Phillip used as an excuse to be even more watchful. His eyes hardly veered away from Amanda as they sat and feasted on Paloma's lemon-stuffed Branzino. It was delicious and the conversation with the Huxleys was pleasant. But she wished Nick was right there beside her.

With the sun high in the sky, Amanda tilted her head back and absorbed the rays. She could hear her mother's voice inside her head, squawking at her to stay under the shade before she gets sun spots and wrinkles. The concern wasn't even skin cancer for Beth Ann; it was more vanity.

Her legs dangled over the edge of the dock, her toes not quite skimming the water. She was serenaded by a quiet symphony of rustling trees and gentle waves lapping on the rocks below. When she heard the footsteps creaking on the dock, she knew that peace would be disturbed; but she was thankful for it.

Nick sighed as he sat beside her, pulling his knees to his chest as he removed his sneakers. He joined her, dangling his legs over the edge until his feet were submerged ankle-deep in the water. Amanda smiled to herself, swinging her legs and pointing her toes to make it reach the water but only barely breaking through the surface.

"Have you eaten?" She figured it would be best to cut through the silence with a safe topic. She didn't want to sound too accusatory by asking him where he'd been. She also didn't want him to think she was mad at him by giving him the silent treatment. "There's some leftovers in the fridge if you're hungry. Paloma cooked it — not me — so it's good… it's edible."

He chuckled softly, and she felt like her stomach was light as air.

"I appreciate it, but I already grabbed some food with Liv."

"Liv? You drove out to meet Detective Benson?"

"Yeah. I… I needed to talk to someone about, well —"

"No, I get it. It'd be weird if you talked to me because of our relationship —" she paused, cringing at the word. "I don't know what _this_ is, but we have been sleeping together. And Kim's my sister so I can just imagine how awkward that conversation would be. So you know, don't worry about it. I totally understand."

"It's not that I don't want to talk about it with you, Amanda. I just don't know what else to tell you besides I'm sorry."

"Nick, I told you it's not your fault. If anything, it's mine —"

"No. You didn't plan for it to happen. Neither of us did."

Amanda pulled her legs toward her chest and rested her chin on her knees. She felt as small as she looked in this position. It was the same vulnerability she felt standing in that room with Leo. He exerted his power over her, and for a moment, she let him. The difference with Nick's situation is she planned for all of that to happen until something inside her told her to stop. It wasn't fear; it was her conscience.

She wasn't sure if she would ever find the courage to tell him. Would he understand why she felt like she needed to do it? Would he ever forgive her?

They sat in the stillness for a while. Nick kept his eyes focused on the sailboat in the distance, fading into the edge of the horizon.

"You said you don't know what to call our relationship," Nick said suddenly, lowering his head to look at anything but her. His arms crossed over his chest, rocking his body back and forth. "What does it mean to you? Because I know I'm not your husband, but sometimes I forget where fiction blurs with reality. Sometimes I feel like I don't have to be anything but myself when I'm around you."

"Nick."

"Look, I just want to know you're not playing me. That this isn't all just an elaborate ruse to get me to work with you." His voice raised slightly, his shoulders tensing. He took a deep breath as he ran his hands over his face. "I know this is a job, but am I just a job to you?"

Amanda shook her head. "Not since the night you kissed me outside the firehouse. I knew, then, I had feelings for you."

He looked up to meet her eyes. Pulling her in closer, he cupped her cheek and kissed her chastely on the lips. "I'm scared out of my mind things will change between us after what happened last night."

She touched her forehead to his as she let her fingers trace the outline of his jaw. She didn't expect Nick to be so open about his insecurities. There was always a sense that he wore his heart on his sleeve despite trying his best to keep his emotions guarded, but this honesty was more than she was used to receiving. And it certainly was more than she was used to giving back.

"If anything's changed, I think it's that I feel safer with you more and more every day. I trust you, Nick."

He wrapped his arms around her. She knew he had waited so long to hear her say that. And she didn't realize it until then, but she had been waiting on someone she could trust completely. It felt like nothing she had ever felt before.

* * *

The rusty shopping cart was parked outside the phone booth. Inside the vandalized glass case, Kim punched in the numbers she had scribbled on the palm of her hand. It kept ringing until it went to voicemail. She hung up and tried again. This couldn't be left as a message; she needed to provide information but she also needed to ensure nothing would be done to harm Amanda.

"Hello?"

Kim exhaled, hand flying to her forehead in relief. "Oh, Chief, thanks for picking up. It's Kim."

"Kim?" the man on the other line asked. "Kim Rollins?"

"Yep."

She could hear the background noise lulled into silence as a door shut. He rested on his office chair, cheap plastic creaking as he reclined.

"What can I do for you, Kimberly? New York treating you well?"

"Yeah, it's been good. Can't thank ya enough for hooking me up with this job."

"That's good to hear. You know, Finch tells me you're the best thing to happen to that joint. Told ya with that mouth of yours, you'd be a star."

Kim shuddered at the mention of the sheriff's name. While she didn't mind giving oral sex to most of her clients, she couldn't stand that pig, Ben Finch, and his borderline abusive fixations.

"As nice as it is catching up, I told you not to call me unless it's an emergency. So what's goin' on? Are the little bitches actin' up?"

"No, the girls are fine," Kim answered. "It's Amanda. Did you know she's here?"

The creak of his office chair made itself known.

"Amanda's in New York?" he asked in complete surprise. "No. No way. A transfer would need to be run by me before it happens. Unless my ditz of a secretary fucking drowned it in the middle of all this paperwork… Shit." He pushed through the mountains of papers and folders on his desk, searching for a specific file. "Are you sure it was Amanda?"

"I think I know what my sister looks like."

"What the fuck was she doing there? She was at a party?"

"Yeah, she's working undercover… I think the guy she's with might be a cop too. There's no way Manda tricked him into marrying her. He don't look stupid."

"Sam?"

"No, it ain't Sam. I never seen him before."

"God damn it! She's probably working with the NYPD."

Kim chewed on her nails, nervously scanning the street for anyone who looked familiar. She wasn't supposed to be making unsupervised calls. She wasn't even supposed to be out in town by herself, but the boys were either too lazy or too high to keep tabs on her. Still, she could get in serious trouble if one of them found her.

Her voice cracked as she spoke. "You promised Amanda would never find out I was turning tricks."

"Hey, I did everything I could to block that investigation. It's not my fault your sister can't follow a chief's command."

"Now she knows and she's going to do whatever it takes to get me out. I don't wanna go out," she cried. "Is there anything you can do to stop her? Anything that wouldn't have you hurtin' her."

There was a pause on the other line. Kim was terrified. She didn't want to be taken away from her newfound livelihood and thrust back to Atlanta, where she knew she would be a parasite to her mom and sister. But she also didn't want Amanda to be harmed by these people. She had seen them in action. She had seen how they destroyed the lives of turncoats. She had witnessed how they made disobedient girls disappear. They were not nice people.

"I'll find out what the fuck she's doing working in New York, and I'm going to get her out," he stated firmly. "Don't you worry your pretty little head, darling."

"You won't hurt her?"

"Kimberly, I gave you everything you wanted. You have a job. You have control over those girls. When have I ever lied to you?"

She swallowed hard. "Never."

"All right then. I'm gon' take care of it and make sure none of 'em find out about Amanda," he promised. "Hang tight, ok?"

"Ok." She had no reason to doubt him because he had taken care of her ever since she got herself tangled up with the law. He had always done her the service of making her record disappear. He was a good man. He was a man she could trust. She never understood why Amanda hated him so much when he always had their backs. "Thank you, Chief Patton. I don't know what I'd do without you."


	22. Equine

**AN:** _So, it's been a while since I updated. All I can say is that I've been busy (but not busy enough to abandon writing, so I'm sorry). Obviously, this is a ship I still care about, but I'd be lying if I said that the absence of new material and the waning interest wasn't discouraging. I still plan to finish what I started, especially since I have the story planned out. I just don't know how often I'll have the motivation to write it, and I don't want this fic to feel like an assignment (because I have enough of that to worry about). So yeah, consider this chapter an apology for not updating sooner and for possibly taking another month to update the next chapter._

 _I hope it's a good enough apology. :\_

* * *

 **Hush**

 **22\. Equine**

* * *

Polo players, who were dressed in crisp, white jodhpurs and brown leather riding boots, walked along chalk lines. A pair of them swung their mallets like canes as they talked strategy. Another set from the opposing team were less concerned about the game, choosing instead to discuss recent vacations to exotic locales like Casablanca and the island of Saint Martin.

Summers at Southampton Country Club were always vibrant with parties; although none as well attended as the polo matches. Privilege was on display as the rich rubbed elbows and the equestrians raced up and down the field on the backs of Arabian blood horses.

In view of an expanse of pristine green grass the size of nine football fields, Nick and Amanda stood at the sidelines, blending in with high society. They surveyed the scene below with their flutes of Veuve Clicquot. They said their hellos, partook in polite small talk, and pretended they hadn't witnessed a small number of the gathering involved in the affairs of a sex society. No one had given the slightest impression otherwise.

It was only last Saturday when Amanda had seen these same people writhing in the midst of an orgy. She didn't know the name of this one man, but she remembered his face, twisting in absolute pleasure, as his body was stretched out on a table and devoured by a throng of women. His posture was stick straight as he stood by his Stepford wife, who smiled brightly and obliviously at friends who were too well-mannered to tell her the truth about her husband. He straightened his solid navy tie and tightened his jaw; perhaps wishing he could be anywhere but the country club.

Amanda knew what that felt. She was tired of the fake niceties. Even Nick, who had handled these social situations without much effort, seemed to shy away from casual conversations. While their relationship remained cordial since their talk at the docks, he was still somewhat closed off. They talked about safe topics and got to know a little more about each other. They slept beside each other but Nick hadn't made a move.

She didn't want to push him into having sex, especially after what happened at last week's party. Even though he said he feared it would change things between them, she knew it would take a while before he felt comfortable about sex. But Amanda couldn't deny she was a very physical person. And sharing a small house with Nick 24/7 made her stir crazy with need. When he was asleep beside her, all she wanted to do was climb on top of him, wake him up, and ride him until sunrise. It was borderline insane how much she craved him.

How much she missed him.

The worst part, which turned out to be the scariest part, was sorting through her feelings and realizing how much she wanted to be with Nick. In her past relationships, she never yearned to be with her partner every hour of every day. It's not that she felt like she needed him in order to stay alive; it's that she _wanted_ to be with him. She was never bored with Nick. She never desired for space; she only desired him.

"Have you heard about Leo?" The question was raised amidst the buzz of gossip. Her shoulders tensed, and she felt the warmth of Nick's hand splay across her lower back. It startled her for a millisecond, just like when he confessed he had asked Olivia to control the Leo problem. Her normal reaction would've been to chastise him for going behind her back. But she had to admit — at least to herself — that his protectiveness, in this instance, comforted her. It wasn't what she wanted, but what she needed.

Nick listened as the woman explained what she had heard from a friend of a friend at the District Attorney's office. His head tilted to the side, his expression showing the faintest bit of curiosity. Nowhere did he allude to the fact that he had masterminded the plan to have Leo arrested.

"I heard one of his girlfriends pressed charges for domestic violence. She had him on video."

"No, from what I hear it was taxes."

"I know a friend who has connections with the DEA, and he said they finally nailed him for drug trafficking."

Nick's hand steered Amanda away from the gossip, leading her down the steps toward the chairs lined along one side of the field. They took their seats and watched as the riders led their horses out to the centre. Amanda chanced a glance up at Nick, her mouth curling at the corners when she noticed a piece of dandelion fluff caught in his lashes. She pulled it away and blew it into the wind, laughing softly as it drifted toward the field and out of sight.

Nick smiled softly, warming her heart in ways that guilty pleasure rom-coms could only do. He took her hand and squeezed gently, directing his head to the game. "Throw-in's 'bout to start."

* * *

The horses galloped down the field and back, their riders determined to score goals for their respective teams. Although this was the first live polo match she'd ever seen, it didn't take long for Amanda to get into it. She enjoyed the game, sitting on the edge of her seat every time the players were close enough to score a point. Nick sat beside her, brimming with the same kind of tempered excitement, blowing into his closed fist when a player nearly fell off the saddle trying to score.

He leaned close to her ear and whispered, "Can't believe I'm saying this, but this is more exciting than I thought."

"You only say that because you're a Yankee fan."

He crinkled his nose, before lightly poking her on the side. She wiggled away, biting down on her bottom lip to quell her surprise. It seemed so natural for them to be ribbing each other about sports teams; she was suddenly reminded of Nick telling her he sometimes forgot where reality blurred with fiction.

After the first two chukkers, the team in pale pink were up by a point. The crowd was dispersed, half immersed in the game and the other half mingling while getting a good late afternoon buzz.

Before the next half of the game commenced, Amanda excused herself to go to the ladies' room. She was in one of the stalls when she overheard a set of two voices enter the previously empty washroom.

"It's pure MDMA, I can promise you that."

The other woman scoffed. "It better be. I don't want anything laced with Special K this time."

"That was a bad batch, but rest assured I'm not working with that supplier anymore so you won't have to worry about that."

"How can I trust you?"

"Look, Miss, I'm the only dealer your country club friends recommended, so I think that says a lot about who you can trust around here." There's a short pause as the other woman mulls it over. "You're not going to get X as good as what I can give you. Not even in the city."

Amanda took a cautious step forward, peeking through the narrow space to see two figures standing by the sink. One woman was much shorter; she was wearing the club's staff uniform, a white polo shirt and khakis. The other woman had her back turned, but Amanda immediately knew who she was. The rich, ebony hair with honey highlights was curled to perfection, matching her deep skin and metallic gold cocktail dress. Only a model could've pulled off something so gaudy and present herself as a vanguard of fashion.

"I'm guessing you've seen what this little pill can do to people," said the woman in khakis as she held up a pill between her fingers. "I know you want this for the next party."

"How do you know about that?"

The woman shrugged. "It's not a well-kept secret. Don't worry. I know you have strict rules so I'm not going to say any more," she said. "But just know that the people who attend your little freakshow parties isn't really much different from my list of customers."

Paula Young reached into her clutch and took out a healthy stack of cash. "Here."

The exchange flashed too quickly for Amanda to see how much money and drugs were involved, but she saw the edge of the clear bag fall into Paula's clutch before it snapped close. Once Paula stormed out of the room, Amanda took her chance and pushed the stall door open.

The other woman was startled, turning on her heel at the unexpected sound. She pressed her hands on her back pockets like she was worried Amanda would try to take the cash from her.

Running the water, Amanda washed her hands and looked at their reflection. She studied the other woman. She hadn't seen her around town, or the country club for that matter. She looked plain — so plain with her pale skin and wheat-colored bob she made the perfect unsuspecting drug dealer.

"Do you have any more of what you're selling?" Amanda asked, keeping her expression stone-faced.

The other woman had the audacity to shake her head, pretending she had no idea what Amanda was talking about.

"Ecstasy," she said, making herself clear. "I know you sell pills, so how much?"

"You must have gotten the wrong idea," the woman replied.

"If you only sell to a certain list of customers, I can assure you that I run in the same circles as Paula."

"You misheard what was happening here." She gave a tight-lipped smile as she passed Amanda a warm towel to dry her hands. "I don't deal, ma'am. I just work here."

She gave Amanda one last look before leaving the room. Amanda gave her a few seconds before following after her, watching her walk up the marble staircase of the country club and through the main lobby. Before reaching the front of the building, she ditched the company-supplied baseball cap. And as soon as she got to the driveway, a black SUV pulled up and she hopped into the passenger seat, driving away without pause.

Amanda took note of the plates, snapping a quick picture and making a mental note to run it through ANPR later that night. Following the source of drugs may not yield into rescuing the girls, but it would surely help build a case against the trafficking ring. And if, indeed, they kept the same client list, then it would make it much easier for the DA's office to find the people responsible.

* * *

By nightfall, the celebration was winding down. The jazz band kept playing with an inimitable energy that failed to match the exodus of party guests, much like the string orchestra on the Titanic.

Nick had shaken too many hands to count. Amanda's cheeks must've been raw from pressing up against so many different faces — smooth, stubbled, bearded, caked in layers of makeup. Their names were a fleeting memory, but they had recognized a few of them; if not in previous Southampton events, then at a Wolfsbane party.

A few men invited Nick out to have a smoke. He never liked the stuff; it reminded him too much of his father. But days of working undercover had taught him that smoke breaks afforded that false sense of closeness, which made people bold enough to air their dirty laundry. He had acquired key pieces of information just by pretending he enjoyed the taste of a cigarette.

This time, however, he was shit out of luck.

The only drunken conversation these men were interested in having was a comparison of their mistresses' cup sizes. Nick laughed with them to blend in, inhaled the nicotine into his lungs, and prayed that a few extra minutes of cardio would help reverse the damage to his body.

While the men headed back inside, Nick stayed, overlooking the empty field that had lost its pristine uniformity. Horses running back and forth had weathered some areas, particularly toward the end posts where the grass gave way to mud. He walked along the length of the field, then aimlessly down a path tucked away close to the fifth hole of the club's golf course. Manicured hedges were on either side of him, standing tall at about the height of his shoulders. It was then he realized he had walked into a garden maze.

In the middle of it all was a stone fountain. Copper and silver coins sunken at the bottom and catching the the light.

Hands in his pockets, Nick stared down at the shallow water as he thought about all that had happened in the last month. Tomorrow would be the first of August. And while he could still remember vividly the day Cragen told him about the assignment and introduced him to Amanda, everything that happened after seemed like a whirlwind. Their relationship had changed so suddenly, like that first surge of high tide after many moons of calm seas.

"Shit."

The curse sliced through the silence. Nick lifted his head to see Amanda standing several feet away, her face barely visible atop the hedges. He laughed quietly to himself, watching as she attempted to figure out how to get to the end of the maze.

She turned around and walked right into another dead end. This time, he couldn't help but laugh out loud, stifling the noise with a hand clamped over his mouth. Even with her tiny head peeking above the hedges, he still felt that cold glare pierce straight into his heart.

He knew he should have said something to make her feel better. Perhaps he should have been honest about how it took him a couple of wrong turns and dead ends to figure out how to get to the mediocre fountain. But he enjoyed watching her get mildly frustrated. It amused him to see her twist her mouth into a frown and contemplate her next move.

"About time," he quipped. Eventually she made it to the middle of the maze — a small paved area with an old fountain and some overgrown potted plants.

"This is it?"

"Yeah, this is it," Nick confirmed, sweeping an arm out in a faux-grand gesture. "Sorry it doesn't cut your Disney standards, your royal highness."

Amanda rolled her eyes, striding down the path to meet him by the fountain. She poked him in the stomach and he lurched forward in surprise.

"So this is where you came to brood?" She shook her head, but he caught the the upward curl of her lips. "I was looking for you everywhere —"

"You missed me?"

She snorted. "Don't kid yourself. You're my ride home."

He crossed his hands over his heart and pretended he had just been hit.

"Well, I'm glad to see that you're coming back to yourself." She trailed off. Biting down on her bottom lip, she took a step closer and placed her hands on his shoulders. Instead of tensing up like he had done in previous days, her touch relaxed him. "You're right. I missed you…."

Nick wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her in for a tender embrace. She relaxed in his arms, breathing in his scent.

"I'm sorry I haven't been myself lately."

"I understand," she said, muffling the words into the soft cotton of his shirt.

He brushed his palm over her cheek, cupping her face so he could look into her eyes. In this light — in any light, he thought — she was so beautiful, he couldn't help but smile.

"Nick." It came out more like a breath than a whisper. Her lids sealed over her eyes as he leaned down, softly kissing her lips. She tasted of strawberries and champagne and her skin smelled of daisies. It intoxicated him, always leaving him a little breathless and disoriented whenever their lips parted.

And if he could somehow kiss her without ever coming up for air, then he would have happily drowned in that moment.

Amanda touched her lips on his one last time before parting. She sighed into his neck, threading her fingers through the hair behind his ears and pressing lightly into his scalp. He felt all the stress and tension roll off him in waves.

He thought he had groaned inwardly, but when he heard Amanda giggle he knew he had been caught.

"I think it's time to go home."

"You sure?" Nick asked.

She nodded, pouting her lips. He sought it as an invitation to kiss her once, twice, and maybe thrice if she hadn't laughed and playfully pushed him away.

"Come on," she said as she turned on her heel. "I'll drive us home. I've had less to drink."

Nick followed as she navigated their way out of the maze. He wasn't paying much attention. He was fixated on what Amanda had said about driving them home. It was an unassuming statement, but it was then he realized he wanted those conversations to be his normal. He wanted home to mean anywhere as long as it was with Amanda.

Looking over her shoulder, she smiled at him and reached for his hand. Fingers locking together, he felt the cool metal band of her wedding ring on the warmth of his skin. It all felt so real that the thought of losing it all was enough to make him dread the end of summer.

It was in the middle of that maze under the dark of night when Nick realized he had fallen in love with Amanda.

* * *

The moonlight streamed through the willows, illuminating the earthen path to the cabin. Nick and Amanda kept their voices low as they carried on the conversation they had in the car. Ever since they had found each other in the garden maze, the relaxed companionship had returned.

She was grilling him about being a high school jock and teased him with stereotypes commonly found in 90s teen movies like Varsity Blues and She's All That.

"I might've played cornerback but, contrary to popular belief, I was not a popular kid."

Amanda arched a brow, studying the seriousness of his expression. "Why do I find that so hard to believe? You must've had girls lining up to date you."

Nick widened his eyes and laughed. "Really? Me?" He pointed at himself like the idea of being an eligible bachelor at 18 was the most preposterous idea. "I mean, I _wish_ high school was like that. To be honest, I had a girlfriend for three years and she pretty much had me whipped up until she moved to Boston for college. That was when I realized I had missed out on getting to know a lot of people and making tons of friends. We were always so focused on each other. We were even thinking about the possibility of marriage after graduation. It was nuts."

"Have you always been that way in relationships?"

"I learned from it, but it's been hard to break old habits," he confessed. "Maria and I had a great relationship for several years. Then our jobs pulled us apart. She became more distant, but in her defence, I became a little paranoid and stubborn." Nick shook his head, staring ahead with a wistful look in his eye. He didn't mind opening up to Amanda, but the last thing he wanted to talk about with her was his failed marriage. Changing the topic, he turned to her and asked, "So, what about you? What were you like in high school?"

"Me?" Amanda frowned, her brows knitting together as if contemplating her answer. "I didn't really do high school relationships. But that's not to say I didn't have my fair share of boyfriends. They were usually older guys… the washed-up quarterback who became an alcoholic, the stoner rebel who broke his neck crashing his dirt bike into a ditch… You know, upstanding guys my grandma _adored_."

Nick chuckled nervously, unsure of what to say in response. It didn't sit well with him that she had been in imbalanced relationships at such a young age.

Amanda clasped her hands together and swung them in front of her. He could tell that she felt a little uneasy about what she had just revealed, and he felt the onus was on him to assure her that he wasn't judging her. She was a teenage girl who got caught up with grown men who should've known better.

"You know, I was a track star in my day." She lifted her chin, a proud yet teasing smile playing on her lips. "Started competing for state titles in my sophomore year."

"I can see that." Nick stopped in his tracks, looking over Amanda's strong calves. He bit down on his bottom lip. She was wearing stilettos that made her long legs look even more amazing.

"Bet I'm faster than you."

"Doubt it," he countered, grinning like the Cheshire cat when she turned around to face him. Her face was twisted in mock offence.

"Race you to the end of the dock."

He lowered his face to meet hers, and he smirked. "Game on."

She smiled widely as she pushed on his shoulders. Her laugh was throaty, even rougher around the edges now that she had a bit of alcohol in her system. Her flaxen hair was a wild tangle, smelling sweeter than the flowers in the garden maze.

Right there in the middle of the Huxley's lawn, he couldn't help but be mesmerized by her once again. He had never been with anyone who was so liberated, whose sense of reckless abandon was so _goddamn_ contagious.

Reaching down to her ankles, she removed her shoes and held them by their skinny heels. "On the count of three, ok?" She pointed to the end of the dock — a blurry finish line from where they were standing. If they listened closely enough, they could hear the low tides lapping the rocks on the shore. "One," she started, "two…" she paused, shoving her shoes to his chest. "Hold these for me, will ya?"

Before he could gather the pair in his hands, she had taken off into the night's shadows.

She cheated!

He was too flabbergasted by the dirty trick to react. It took him a few seconds, which was enough to guarantee his loss in the race. He chased after her, his nostrils filling with the peaty smell of algae and the salty air. He coursed down the embankment, avoiding the raised roots of the willow trees. Her form appeared to him in a flash of canary yellow — a wild mess of waves and a skirt flying in the wind.

The sight of her naked legs was enough to make the heat rise in his cheeks.

The sound of his leather shoes were heavy on the wood compared to the light steps of her bare feet. He could see her approaching the end of the dock, her strides slowing down so momentum wouldn't push her into the water. As she reached the end, he imagined her raising her arms in victory; instead, she raised her arms to pull her dress over her head.

Nick stopped in awe. He still had her shoes in one hand, while the other clenched into a tight fist. Her silhouette shone under the light of the moon, glossing over the curve of her waist and the roundness of her hips. Slowly, she slipped the last remaining garment down the length of her legs. She looked over her shoulder and met his eyes. And with one last smirk, she dove into the water and disappeared from sight.

His heart was pounding amidst the stillness. The cool night air was no match for the volcanic rush of blood through his veins.

He dropped her shoes and slipped out of his own. Taking a few steps forward, he unbuttoned his shirt and ripped it from his shoulders. His navy trousers came next, followed by a pair of socks, which nearly took him off balance as he tried to remove them. Standing over the edge in just his boxer briefs, he looked down at the ripples of water and searched for Amanda. His body shivered as he slid the boxer briefs past his bare ankles, exposing himself to their secluded bend along the Atlantic.

His fingertips touched the water first. Smoothly diving in, he was relieved to discover the water was a warmer temperature than the air above it. There was something so peaceful about the muted fluidity of his surroundings. It felt like he was surrounded by a force field. Comforting, but with all the power to kill him. As he broke through the surface, he drew in the breath that would revive him.

He caught a glimpse of Amanda — blue eyes vivid like the stars — before she plunged back into the water.

He swam, floating at the exact spot where he had last seen her. The calm around him was perplexing. Not that he didn't enjoy seeing this playful side in her, but now was not the time to be playing hide and seek. All he wanted was to see her… to touch her… to feel her wrapped around him.

His breath caught in his throat as he heard her sharp intake of air. He turned quickly, just in time to see her head thrown back, hair slick, and chest raised to the heavens. She met his eyes and they swam to each other, meeting halfway and stopping within inches of each other. The way their eyes locked on each other was an unfamiliar yet inviting step toward intimacy.

"Hi," she said, smiling coyly before sinking the lower half of her face below the water.

"Hi."

Closing the distance, Amanda encircled her arms around his neck. Feeling her body pressed up against his had made him realize just how much he pined for her. He had tortured himself long enough after feeling ashamed and undeserving.

His fingers trailed the outside of her thigh, from her knee to her bottom, before pulling her leg around his hip. Following suit, she wrapped her other leg around him until she was straddling him.

"Amanda, I —" he started, but stopped to clear his throat. He wasn't expecting his voice to come out so strained, but he couldn't help what the proximity was doing to his body. "Amanda, I need you."

Nick didn't care if he sounded desperate, but he was thankful to feel the reprieve when Amanda's lips crashed over his. Her mouth slotted against his in a way that made perfection seem like too inadequate of a word. Their kisses were unparalleled. He was convinced she had ruined kissing for him, because no one else would ever be able to make him feel so satisfied from just a kiss alone.

As she slipped her tongue into his mouth, his hands travelled down the length of her back, down to the curve of her ass. He pulled her down until his hardness filled the space between her legs. Despite the water, he felt the warm slickness from her slit; and he knew she needed him just as much as he needed her.

"Baby, please," she whimpered against his mouth. She ground down on him, squeezing her legs tighter around his torso.

Nick lifted her just enough for her arm to reach between their bodies. Guiding his cock toward her entrance, she dropped herself slowly down his length, her eyes rolling back as she felt him fill her to the hilt. She curled into him, gasping into the crook of his neck.

"Dear god." The prayer spilled from his lips as his body succumbed to the carnal sensation.

Not losing her stare, he fucked her in slow, upward thrusts. It was indulgent and passionate. And in spite of the fact that they were doing this out in public, there was something so sincere about the way they shared this moment. He watched as indigo eyes dilated until they were almost pitch black. Nick and Amanda stayed that way, slowly fucking, until he felt her body quiver. She sealed her eyes and leaned into him, wrapping her arms around his strong back and skimming her teeth over his shoulder.

He pressed his lips on her neck, nipping and sucking on the same spot until she cried softly. "Nick."

"Amanda, I —"

She moaned and bucked into him. "I'm so close… So close."

The buoyancy of the water allowed him to pick her up effortlessly and drive their bodies toward completion. His thrusts were becoming more rapid and relentless. He believed her when she said she was close; he could feel she was on the brink with the way her walls gripped his cock to invoke release. It had been days since he and Amanda had been together, and he could feel all that pent up sexual energy finally catching up to him.

He kissed her with a hunger that proved just how much he meant when he said he needed her. A hand travelled up the contours of her torso to cup her breast. He rolled a hardened nipple between his fingers and caught her "fuck" of surprise, tasting the sweet sugar of her profanity.

"Harder, baby."

Going the extra mile, he slipped his hand down her abdomen. She ground into him, circling her hips as his strokes came in long and deep and hard. He lightly touched her clit with the pad of his thumb, watching as her mouth opened in anticipation.

"You're so beautiful," he hummed into the side of her neck, kissing the same spot he had nipped and sucked just moments earlier. As much as he loved feeling her body melt whenever he paid attention to her weak spots, he would rather watch her face as she would come undone. Fingering her clit, he rolled it between his fingers as he continued to drive himself deep inside her. She clawed onto his shoulders as her climax sent her body into a quivering mess. "Oh my fucking god!"

He was mesmerized by the sight before him. And he would be remiss to let this end so soon, but he couldn't contain himself anymore as he felt that familiar tightness before he crashed into his own release. Wave after wave of his arousal until he was spent, shallowly breathing in the salt on her skin.

The only consolation he had was knowing, as soon as they dried off and made it back inside their home, he could make love to her again.


	23. Blue

**AN:** _Hey! An update in less than two weeks! I remember when I used to be able to update a couple of times in a week; but that was also around the same time I didn't have such cynical feelings about this show. Anyway, I want to say thanks to the people who reviewed._

 _This chapter was supposed to include more, but it went past 7,000 words, which is significantly longer than any other chapter I've released. So for consistency's sake, I split it into two parts. Since part two has already been written and just needs to be edited, I can upload it next week. But I'd be more inclined to do it if my readers left me some reviews :) I don't like the idea of keeping updates hostage in exchange for x number of reviews. But, tbh, part of the reason why I write is to share my ideas and see how people respond to it, so if y'all are nice enough to let me know what you think, I'll update by next Wednesday instead of, say, Halloween. Deal?_

 _P.S. In the beginning, italicized bits are flashbacks. Then I switch focus/POV between Nick and Amanda and I use italics to make that distinction. Hope that clears up any confusion._

* * *

 **Hush**

 **23\. Blue**

* * *

 _The sex was either hot-blooded fucking or profound lovemaking — the kind that pulled at the heartstrings and left souls breathless._

 _It had been the latter that they were recovering from. Only they didn't know it at the time._

 _Lazing in bed, Amanda's hair fanned out on Nick's chest. Her ear pressed over his heart, listening and counting a healthy 60 beats. With what they had just done, she imagined his heart would be racing, but he was in even better shape than she had originally thought. She should've known by now not to underestimate him._

 _He was playing with her hair — one of his post-coital quirks, like cuddling, or more specifically having her prone on top of him while he enveloped her in his arms. 'The more skin contact the better' seemed to be his philosophy. But she didn't mind. Not when he nuzzled into her neck and murmured "warm" in her ear._

 _The late afternoon sun spilled orange into the room. She smiled, delighting in his quiet company._

 _She lifted her head, perching her chin on the back of her hand. As she moved to look at his face, she noticed he was holding a small section of her hair. A classic braid was nearing the ends, and he was focused on looping the sections over and under, over and under. He caught her amused stare and pouted defensively, saying it was something he had to learn once he had a daughter. She was never particularly fond of children, but she could've sworn, from that moment on, she was all heart-eyes for Nick the dad._

 _Once he tied a knot to secure the plait, she slid up his body to properly thank him for his handiwork. But before she could kiss him, he flipped her on her back, peppering playful kisses all over her face and neck. It had been so long since she laughed so hard her stomach ached._

It had been a week since the spontaneous race that led to skinny dipping under the stars. In the relatively short time they'd been together, their relationship had its fair share of ups and downs. Any other couple would've resigned to the possibility that they weren't compatible; but Nick and Amanda were both equally stubborn. In spite of their differences, they both had a tendency to make decisions based off emotions, often overlooking the logical consequences of their actions.

Thinking about life — their _real_ lives — outside of their coastal paradise was past recollection. Instead, their days revolved around rekindling the physical nature of their relationship, disclosing the depths of their feelings through sex. It was in the moments between when they slowly but surely opened up to each other. Exploring the inspired ideas in Nick's head, and appreciating Amanda's bright-eyed contemplation of her surroundings.

The cogs in their minds worked differently, but it was those differences that allowed them to complement each other.

 _Candlelight and soft music drifting from the other room, Nick and Amanda sat in opposite ends of the bath. Neither spoke of the incidental romance, yet neither attempted to blow out the candles nor pull the needle from the record._

 _They were trading stories of college days and life in police academy. She was in a talkative mood, thanks to the bottle of red wine they had over dinner. She had drifted off a few tangents as she told him a particularly amusing story about showing up the cadets who had belittled her._

 _Nick didn't mind if she was monopolizing the conversation; he enjoyed listening to her. Being genuinely fascinated by the woman he was falling in love with was the cherry on top of the sundae._

 _The stories and laughter subsided around the same time their fingertips resembled prunes. It was time to climb out of the tub and dry off, but neither one made an effort to leave. Amanda lifted her leg above the water, waving her foot in his face. And before she could submerge it back into the rose-scented suds, he held her ankle and kissed the arch of her foot._

The third invitation arrived on a Thursday. Nick tossed and turned that night, questioning whether or not he was ready to go back. Although they had both promised each other to keep the light red on their bracelets, he didn't believe it was a guarantee that people would respect their boundaries. It was nothing more than an empty formality, in a place where people sometimes looked the other way when it came to following the rules.

Once Saturday arrived, he had made a decision. He stuck by his promise to Amanda and joined her as they waited in the backseat of a black Audi. The driver picked them up from the gallery and drove up north before turning down a private road that twisted and turned through the forest, not far from the Tuckahoe Wood Preserve where Amanda had suspected they kept Kim and the girls. He tried to memorize the directions, even though it felt like they were going in circles.

Upon arriving at the lake house, they were greeted by Nina, the gatekeeper who was looking more gaunt than she did the last time they had seen her.

"Amanda, Nicolas," she welcomed them into the great room. "I have fantastic news. You have been invited to attend an exclusive party on the island."

The couple exchanged a look of confusion.

"Look, we're not going anywhere unless we're together," Nick stated firmly, his jaw clenched and his arm secure around his _wife's_ waist.

"That won't be an issue." Nina glanced down at the matching red lights on their bracelets. Lifting her chin to look him in the eye, she smiled tightly. "We respect our clients' boundaries."

"You mentioned something about an island?"

Nina turned to Amanda. "Yes. There's a small island on the other side of the lake where parties are thrown for select guests." She leaned in closer to whisper, "They're usually for our younger clients. We hire the best DJs from Europe to host these raves about once every few months. And since you've both garnered the attention of some of our other members, and since we've had numerous requests for your presence at tonight's party, we've arranged for a car to take you to the island."

"Do we have to go?" Nick asked.

"Oh, Nicolas, I wouldn't miss it if I were you."

All at once, a chauffeur and a server arrived to stand on either side of Nina. The server had a silver tray holding two glasses of pale green liquid, about three fingers tall. She nodded, waiting for Nick and Amanda to take the offered drinks.

"It's Absinthe," Nina explained, raising her brows expectantly as she waited for them to take a sip. "Drink up. It's specially-formulated by a small distillery in the Alps. One bottle has a waiting list of six years."

They wanted to refuse the drink, but all eyes were on them. Nick winced at the medicinal and herbal taste. On his tongue, it wasn't as bad as he expected, that was until it felt like he had run bleach down his throat.

He held Amanda's hand as they were led back out to the driveway. The car took them down a dirt road west of the house, circling around the lake. Where there was a rocky shoreline by the lake house, this side had foxtail ferns and lilies spilling into the water. The grass was taller and the forest cover more densely packed. When they approached a wooden bridge, the driver stopped the car and told them that was as far as he could take them.

The walk to the island was perhaps equivalent to the length of a football field, but with every step, it felt like he had underestimated the distance. Suddenly, feeling unbalanced, he reached for the handrail. Amanda must've been feeling the same way because she shifted sideways, pushing him accidentally.

"You ok?" He asked.

She nodded, but the expression on her face said differently.

"My head —"

"I know," she cut him off, "mine too."

Regaining their bearings, they resumed the walk to the island. It felt ominous, as if they knew they were marching toward a point of no return.

It turned out he had every right to be paranoid.

 _Even though Nick didn't get a wink of sleep on Thursday night, he didn't pass up the opportunity to join Amanda on her morning run. The last thing he wanted to do was cardio, but he had waited all damn night to get a better read on how she felt about the upcoming party. Perhaps sharing an anxious state would've made him feel less alone about the situation._

 _Their run took them to a secluded beach. They jogged past the grassy sand dunes until their path took them along the shoreline. The sky was turning a deeper shade of grey, but she seemed to have no inclination to turn back home._

 _"Amanda, I think we should head back," he said as he trailed behind her. The ocean spray struck his face. Or it could've been the first drops of rain; he wasn't certain. "It looks like the storm is coming."_

 _"We've got time."_

 _They didn't._

 _They ran about a quarter of a kilometre before they were hit with torrential rain. Sand stuck to the soles of their shoes, slowing them down. The sky rumbled with thunder, flashes of lightning igniting through the ashen clouds. She was the first to spot an abandoned lifeguard tower up the beach. Its weathered paint was chipping off the wood, but its structure was rock solid against the powerful winds._

 _They ran to their refuge, up the ramp and into a small box littered with old rescue cans and buoys. Nick slammed the door to keep the storm out. He panted for air, combing his fingers through his hair and wiping his wet lashes with the hem of his t-shirt. When he turned around, Amanda was looking through a narrow split in the wall. Her back, rising and falling, as she caught her breath._

 _He eased behind her, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her flush to his chest. She was caught by surprise, but she instantly melted into his embrace. His head hung low, breathing in her scent. As he kissed the junction where her neck met her shoulder, she gasped. He knew then that she could feel him growing hard, bearing heavily on the base of her spine._

 _Slowly, he pulled the thin strap of her top over one shoulder, following with his eyes as it fell along her arm. His lips skimmed down her shoulder, tasting the ocean and the rain._

* * *

"Welcome to Wolfsbane Island."

Nick narrowed his eyes, studying the voluptuous brunette. "I'm sorry. Do I know you?"

She fluttered her lashes. "Great memory there, _papi_. I was there at your welcoming party. I was stripping for the guy sitting beside you."

"You were there?" Amanda interjected. "So you must know Savannah? Is she around?"

"Oooh, the wifey wants to play," the woman teased, eyeing Amanda as if she herself wanted a piece. She turned to Nick. "Did you tell your wife about being tied up and dominated by that Confederate flag wieldin' slut?"

"Excuse me?"

Amanda squeezed Nick's arm. "Yeah. He told me all about it. So, where is she?"

"Sorry, honey, but she ain't working tonight."

"What do you mean she's not working —" Amanda stopped just as she felt a dizzy spell. It appeared as if the forest around her was spinning, and all she could hear was a high-pitched buzz in her ear. She could see a blurry Nick trying to speak over the deafening noise, but she couldn't make out what he was saying. "I feel," she started before swallowing hard, "I feel sick."

She felt Nick scoop her up in his arms and carry her up a short, winding path up a hill. As they arrived at the crest, she looked ahead to see a postmodern structure — geometric shapes stacked on top of each other to form a peculiar yet ingenious display of architecture.

"What the?" She pushed against his chest. "I'm fine. Put me down."

He hesitated, but she gave him a hard look and he set her down, while still keeping his hands on her arms. "Are you sure?"

She nodded. They stood at the entrance of the building — a modern portico with steel columns and wood beams overhead.

"There are plenty of available beds inside if you'd like to rest," offered the woman who had met them on the other side of the bridge. "They're sound-proofed and completely private."

"No, I'm fine." Amanda gritted her teeth. "You said Savannah wasn't working tonight?"

"Babe," Nick cautioned.

"Well, she's definitely not on the island," said the woman. "She might be back at the mansion, but I can't be a hundred percent sure."

"Is there any way we could maybe just go back?"

"Hell, if I had known you really wanted that threesome with Savannah, I would've told Nina to arrange something for you. I'm sure Sav would've been down for it. She said she really liked the two of you." The woman winked. "Anyway, enough chit-chat. My job is to make sure you have the best time tonight, so open up," she said before she stuck her tongue out. She pulled out a clear plastic baggie from her bra and sifted out two baby blue pills.

They were the same pills Amanda had seen Paula Young purchase from that woman in the country club.

"What's that?" Nick stopped her.

"It's just a little happy pill. Trust me. You'll be thanking me later."

Amanda bit down on her lip. She pressed her cheek onto Nick's bicep and whispered, "We don't have to do this."

"Open up."

He kept his lips pressed together in a tight line. The woman kept smiling, but Amanda could see the cracks of impatience.

"I don't think we have a choice," he muttered.

Surrendering to the sex society's game, they took the pills and let it rest on their tongues.

"Swallow." She waited until their throats bobbed, then she smiled affirmatively. "Now, I just have to make sure nothing's wasted. Open." She inspected their open mouths for any trace of the blue pill and when they had passed the test, she exclaimed, "Excellent!"

Amanda knew there was a 30-minute window before the MDMA would take effect. She still felt a little nauseated from the effects of the Absinthe. If she was thinking straight, she probably would've thought the combination of the two would be close to lethal.

They followed the woman as she led them inside. Immediately, they were greeted by the sound of electro house and trance. The volume was so loud it pounded in her ears. Strobe lights in neon green and pink danced before her eyes. The energy of the room was so potent; it felt like it had lit up every last nerve ending on her body.

The woman had said something but she couldn't hear her, and then she just walked away.

"What did she say?" Amanda yelled.

"What?" Nick shouted back.

"Forget it," she said with a wave of the hand. Leading him toward the party, they passed by the usual fare of revelry. Not-so hidden couples were having sex against walls. Groups were crowded around carefully crafted lines of cocaine. As they neared the dance floor, she started to feel her senses heighten.

The music was euphoric. It was the most beautiful sound she had ever heard. Her limbs were on pins and needles, itching to dance and surrender to the hypnotic drumbeats.

 _Feeling a sharp pull on his wrist, he stumbled forward and shoulder-checked another man. Nick apologized, but the man didn't care. He was too out of it to notice. Amanda was dragging him to the middle of the dance floor like she was a woman on a mission; he couldn't even get her to slow down when he called her name._

Gyrating bodies moved in lewd ways. Straps of dresses were falling off. Men's large hands slipping under the hem to reach up and grope their partners. Squeezing. Twisting. Heads turned up to the heavens, screaming expletives.

 _Sweat. Their bodies slid and bumped and stuck and repelled with static forces. It was hot. So hot. He wiped the sweat off his brow and licked his chapped lips. Water. He needed water. Letting go of Amanda's hand, he unbuttoned the first two buttons of his shirt._

The whirlwind picked up speed just as she felt she had lost her anchor. Where was Nick? Her vision was getting blurry. Where the fuck did he go? The lights blended into a flash of light that momentarily blinded her. Rainbow-coloured glitter dropping from the ceiling, tasting sugary sweet like pixie dust. "Nick?" she cried out but her hand was no longer in his. She froze.

 _A deer in the headlights — that's what she looked like in the middle of the crowd. He felt awful. Like the lowest, scummiest human for leaving her. He pulled her to him so she would fall into his waiting arms. He stroked her hair away from her face and pressed their foreheads against each other's. "Baby, lo siento. Por favor perdoname."_

She crashed into Nick's body, and her first instinct was to take a deep breath. He smelled delicious. She ran her hands over his chest, fingers toying with a button before ripping it off his torso. In the lucid world, he would've told her she owed him a new shirt; but he was already with her, slipping into intoxication.

Stopping in the middle of the dance floor, she looked up to meet his glazed eyes. She started swaying her hips to the rhythm of the music, her hands guiding his hips as he let her take the lead. As the song climbed to the crescendo, their bodies blended into one.

 _If it hadn't been for their location, or their association to this exclusive club of perverts, they would've already been thrown out for public indecency. He pressed into her body in a futile attempt to remedy his need, but it had only made it worse. It was pure torture._

Amanda was feeling naughty. She could feel him through the layers of clothing, and it made her wet just thinking about how much he wanted her. She groped him through his pants, squeezing until his expression turned from pleasured surprise to pain. Then she released him.

 _Nick didn't appreciate her proud smirk. She was about to turn around, when he wrapped an arm around her waist, crushing their bodies together and rolling his hips. He lowered his face and returned the smirk._

 _Their lips joined in a greedy kiss. They made out, tongues slipping into each other's mouths, duelling softly, darting greedily. She caught his bottom lip between her teeth and tugged until he groaned._

 _He was so hard he thought he was going to tear through his pants. He needed to restore control. A sweep of his tongue down the column of her throat, and her sense of balance was crippled. She fell into his arms, hands digging into the broad planes of his exposed chest._

It was too much. If she looked into those dark eyes, there was no stopping her from jumping him. It's not as if they would be the first two to be fucking in the middle of the dance floor.

She slid her arms around his strong back and lowered them until she had them firmly planted on his glutes. She massaged the pliant muscles of his ass, smiling as she heard him moan in her ear.

 _His head slipped from her shoulder. He buried his head on her chest, taking one long lick down her cleavage._

Shock coloured Amanda's face. The move had made her nipples hard as rocks. She cupped his face in her hands and found his lips, kissing him deeply.

 _Nick's fingers dug into her hips as they moved to the beating snare of the drums. He was kissing her back with equal fervour, but she tore away from the kiss. Twirling around, her back was to him and her arms coiled around his neck. Her fingers weaved through his dark curls, pulling hard when she felt him thrust._

She spread her legs. The tight skirt of her dress rode up her thighs to barely cover her ass. His hands travelled up from the sides of her knees to her upper thighs, teasing below the hem of her dress before he pulled it down. He might've been feeling the effects of ecstasy, but there were still slivers of protective Nick Amaro peeking through even when he was drugged.

He splayed his hand over her stomach, coursing down to lay flat above her mound. And even with the fabric separating their skin, he could already feel her heat.

 _Amanda swallowed down the small quiver that rocked her body. She turned on her heel and caught him by surprise, swiping her tongue on his bottom lip, while grabbing a hold of his package. It was hers. He was hers._

 _She wished the kiss was enough to make her feel like they were the only two people in the room, but bodies were still bumping into them. She felt the touches on her shoulder. She saw a petite brunette try to pull Nick away from her. The worst were the people trying to get in on the action. They were like ravens._

Nick felt a sharp pull on his wrist and shook it off, glaring at the brunette who now had her breasts completely exposed. She might've been carrying a perfect rack of double-Ds but he had no interest in her. Turning his attention back to Amanda, he witnessed the split second it took for another blonde to take her by the jaw and shove her tongue into her mouth. Amanda reeled her head back in surprise, but the woman kept a tight hold on her, kissing her until she felt no resistance.

The girl-on-girl kiss appealed to his base male sensibilities. There was no doubt he was aroused beyond belief, but he was more possessive than anything. Seeing her kissing someone else — whether it was a man or a woman — made him green with jealousy.

He pulled her away and took her face between his hands. He stroked her cheek with his thumb and pressed a soft kiss to her lips. "I need you. Now."


	24. Bliss

**AN:** _Hey! Happy almost-halloween! Just want to give a quick thank you to the people reading and reviewing. This is a continuation from last chapter. They were supposed to be one chapter, but it got way too long so I thought I'd divide it up; and it turns out I'm pretty happy where they both end. In the first section of this chapter, italicized bits are from Nick's perspective and the non-italicized parts are Amanda's. But I'm sure you'll figure it out. Fair warning: this contains a lot of smut. Enjoy! And let me know what you think. Reviews are appreciated :)_

* * *

 **Hush**

 **24\. Bliss**

* * *

 _"I need you. Now."_

The desperation was evident on his face, his eyes eclipsed with desire. His tanned skin was flushed and damp with sweat. His hair, a wild, black crown.

The sound of glass breaking stopped the movements of the people around them, only for them to resume dancing when someone yelled over the pounding bass, "I'm okay!"

Amanda interlaced her fingers with Nick's and led him through the writhing horde of sweaty bodies. Skin stuck to skin. The cloying concoction of perfumes blended with natural musk to create a scent that was horrific yet strangely seductive. She walked straight through the crowd, parting bodies if need be. She nearly got elbowed to the face, but Nick reacted quickly, shoving the unsuspecting man. He lost his footing and fell on his ass, taking another man down with him.

"What the fuck is your problem, man?"

Nick was ready to attack, looming over him, but Amanda pulled Nick back and took him by the chin. "Don't."

"But he —"

"I said, don't," she declared. "Come on. Let's get you out of here before you kill someone."

They reached the perimeter of the dance floor, where the horde was less dense. Scanning the room, she spotted the woman who had given them the ecstasy. She was waving at them, calling them to come over.

"Holy shit!" She yelled over the music. "You two were so hot!"

"We need to get out of here," Nick said. His hands were getting cold. Amanda was afraid he might've already been experiencing some negative side effects of the drug. He looked around the large room in a subdued state of panic. "Where's the exit?"

"Calm down, _papi_. I know just what you need."

The woman took them down a hallway, leaving the party to go into one of several private rooms. The room wasn't like the one in the lake house. This one was airy and modern with a gorgeous view of the forest. There was a king-sized bed, two side tables, and another door that led to their own private ensuite. The furnishings were clean and simple; pure, white cotton bedspreads instead of the ornate brocade and velvets natural to Wolfsbane parties.

The escort slinked away and slid the door closed, effectively soundproofing the room.

Nick walked toward the window and pressed his fingertips to the glass. Amanda watched from where she was standing, admiring the way his shoulders flexed, and the way his silhouette cast a powerful shadow over the bed.

 _He closed his eyes and sighed as he felt her arms circle around his waist. She leaned her head on his back and whispered something he couldn't quite hear. Her lips formed the words on the fabric, stamping her secret into the woven threads. Outside, twilight was upon them._

Her hands rose to the collar of his shirt, peeling it off his shoulders and letting it drop to the floor. Her mouth watered as every inch of his sculpted back was revealed. She caressed his back with kisses, paying close attention to a scar on his right shoulder blade. It wasn't a bullet wound.

"Come to bed."

 _Nick spun around and cupped her face in his hands. He kissed her, basking in the sweet taste of her lips as if he had just bitten into the ripest fruit. Addicted to her taste, he swiped his tongue along her bottom lip before sucking it into his mouth. She moaned. "Please," she whimpered, "Take me to bed."_

 _"Wait."_

 _Running his hands down her sides, he slowly lifted her dress from her body. She stood before him in a matching set of lingerie that looked almost too delicate to rip off in animalistic fashion. His first instinct was to do just that, but his hand stopped in mid-air. He caressed the side of her breast with the back of his hand, then reached behind her to unclasp her bra._

 _She groaned when the cool air hit her nipples, and he deprived her breasts of his touch._

 _Kneeling on the floor, he mapped his way to her hips and stripped off her panties. She kneaded her fingers in his scalp, tugging on his hair when he kissed her inner thigh on the way down._

He was standing within seconds. Lips connecting like lock and key. Belt off. His hand snaking down to fondle her breast. Zipper pulled. Her hands were making quick work of peeling his pants (she didn't recall them being so tight), but he was pushing her toward the bed. She held onto him as the back of her knees hit the mattress. Then she pulled him on top of her.

 _The drug had possessed their bodies, making every sensation more acute and every experience more exquisite._

 _They remained meshed at the mouth, his position on top allowing him to exert his control over the kiss. Underneath him, her legs bent, feet nudging his pants and boxer briefs down to his ankles, where he kicked them off and lost a sock in the process. He reached behind him and removed the last piece of clothing, wanting nothing more than to be as naked as the woman writhing beneath him._

The kiss was cut off. Nick's wet lips skimming a course down her chin and neck. He sucked right below her jaw, swirling his tongue before nipping the sensitized spot with his teeth.

Amanda gasped and her eyes flew open.

"What the fuck?"

She recoiled, using the backs of her forearms to crawl up the bed.

"What's wrong?" he asked, dread written all over his face as he worried he had crossed a line.

Her eyes were wide in horror as she pointed to the ceiling. He followed her gaze and burst out laughing once he'd seen the cause of her disgust. It was a mirrored ceiling. The room may have seemed classier than the torture dungeons back at the mansion, but it was still as sleazy as any other honeymoon suite.

She studied their reflection, watching as Nick's muscles contracted as he laughed. She was particularly drawn to one part of his body that she often overlooked.

"Nick, your ass looks great."

"Hmmm… does it?" He looked at their reflection, clenching his glutes and tilting his head to ponder the truth in her statement.

"C'mere," she giggled. "Lemme squeeze."

He lifted his head from her stomach and gave her a cocky smirk.

Bastard, she thought.

 _He tormented her with feather-light touches sweeping over her body. His hands, his mouth — they lingered in the spots he knew would drive her close to the edge._

 _Amanda's supple breasts filled his hands, her nipples hardening as his hold matched her need. The more she squirmed, the more pressure he gave her. He manipulated the hardened peaks between his fingers, grazing a tip with the blunt edge of his fingernail._

 _She arched from the bed as if she was surfacing for air._

The sensations were incredible. Foreplay was something he never ignored, because it just wasn't in him to be a selfish lover. She could've sworn he derived just as much pleasure out of bringing a woman to climax as achieving his own. The physical chemistry with Nick was beyond compare to anything she had ever experienced, but there was something in that blue pill that pushed her beyond the limits.

His mouth enveloped her nipple, tongue circling the crown. He gave it a hard lick, before devoting his attention on her other breast.

The tightness deep in her belly was insatiable, yearning to be fuelled by the sheer power and masculinity dormant under his thoughtful and tender advances.

He kissed each nipple one last time, then he slithered down her body, fluttering kisses all over her flat stomach down to her pelvic bone. Her hands made their way back to his hair, but he caught her wrists and pinned them down on the bed. Getting on his knees, he raked his eyes over her body."You'll have your turn. I want you to savour this."

Nudging her legs apart, he fixed his eyes on her with a stare so intense it made her shiver.

 _On his stomach, Nick's face was a mere inches from her core. Eyes closed and nostrils flared, he inhaled the honeyed, heady scent of her arousal._

 _He licked his lips, gazing at the rosy, dripping display of her womanhood. She was already so wet. Glistening. Like a flashing sign calling for him to slide home already. His dick hardened and he worried, for a second, that he would drill a hole right through the mattress._

 _Treading slowly, Nick fingered her slit while he watched every twist in her reaction. He played with her lips, strumming them like guitar strings, biding his time before he penetrated her._

 _She whimpered and her knees shook._

 _One finger had her hands clench into fists. Two, twisting and curling inside her, had her fists pounding on the bed. "Yes, baby. More. Oh god. More." Three and her feet lifted off the bed, digging into his shoulder blades. As his fingers probed inside her walls, she bit into her own finger. Upon seeing the salacious act, Nick reached for her hand and sucked on the digit down to the knuckle._

 _Guiding her hand between her legs, he used that same finger to tease her clit. The pad of it circled on the hardened nub as his own hands worked her slit. She shook her head but her mouth kept spilling, "Yes! Yes! Fuck, Yes!" He pushed her hand away and he smiled when he heard her huff in frustration; he had a much better idea._

 _Lowering his head, he caressed her with his lips. He sucked her clit in his mouth and rolled it over his curled tongue like he was indulging on a decadent treat. Going deep, he kept his fingers crossed inside her like he was wishing for good luck he didn't need. His tongue lapping faster and faster._

Amanda was transported back to the outdoor shower, where had had her backed up against the wall, her leg hiked up on his shoulder as he ate her out.

When he went down on her, he never disappointed. But this time, whatever she was feeling was incomprehensible; her thoughts wouldn't have even made sense in the English language. No wonder the cry of orgasm that came out of her mouth was complete gibberish.

The surge of her orgasm gathered every last lick of sense, reaching a crescendo before crashing into bliss.

 _The sound of her climax had grabbed him, his body stilling in its actions to soak up all the sights and sounds. He was so fucking mesmerized._

 _He licked her spilling honey as he stroked his cock to gain a shred of relief; but he knew he would never be totally satisfied until he was buried balls-deep inside her._

Her climax cascaded down her body, dousing her folds with wet arousal, which Nick happily cleaned with his tongue. When he lifted his head from between her legs, he looked so pleased with himself, so proud of what he had done to her. She almost wanted to wipe the smile off his face, but what she really wanted to do was return the favour and, maybe, show him that she was pretty spectacular with her mouth and her hands, too.

Once she had gathered herself, she pushed him down on his back and straddled him. He tried to get his cock lined up to her sex but she climbed higher on his body and trapped his hands to the bed, just as he had done with her. He offered no resistance, surrendering to the dominant wiles of his lover.

He was spread out across the bed, his muscles relaxed as he anticipated her touch.

Amanda traced the outlines of his torso, fingernails digging into the dips and grooves of his abdominal muscles. He clenched and released with every breath. He gasped when she scratched the V-shaped cuts on his hips. And he mewled when she finally got her hands on him.

"Yeah…" He bit down on his lip.

She loved the solid weight of his cock in her hands. Smooth like velvet, wrapped around a fully erect steel rod. She thumbed the tip in smooth circles, watching in silent awe as drops of precum emerged.

 _The vulgar scene played before his eyes like a recording from those video cameras every American family had in the early 90s. It was like he was thirteen again, hiding under the covers with a flashlight and a copy of his dad's Penthouse magazine. It was equal parts shameful and exhilarating._

 _Her hands wrapped around his dick, going up and down the shaft while her other hand toyed with his balls. She cupped them, squeezed them gently, then squeezed them just a little harder to get him to groan his approval._

 _She licked her lips, shiny and swollen pink just like her lips below._

 _He ached for her. Literally ached for her._

Personifying the deadly sin of gluttony, her lips wrapped around his cock and her tongue swirled down the shaft, licking and sucking as if this was the only way to satiate her hunger.

He felt so good, filling her mouth to capacity and yet she still struggled to get him all the way down to the base. Her hand twisted around the bottom of his shaft while her mouth took the rest of him in. She pulled up with a pop before lapping her tongue over the head.

"OhGodOhGodOhGod." Nick was resting on his forearms so he could get a good view of her giving him head. But his arms were shaking and he was just about to fall back, when she grazed her teeth just below the crown. "Jesus fucking Christ!"

 _There was something sinful about praying to god while a woman had his cock deep down her throat. If she kept up with her actions, he wasn't going to last much longer._

 _"Amanda."_

 _She practically drank him, engulfing him in the warmth of her mouth. Pulling her hair to the top of her head, she afforded him an unobstructed view. Nick groaned, stroking her cheek with the back of his hand._

 _"I'm gonna —" he stopped as he felt himself uncoil and surrender to the release._

She wiped the corner of her lips as she swallowed the last drops of his seed. Falling on top of him, she met his lips as he kissed her softly. She could feel his heart pounding, feel his lungs panting for oxygen.

"You're amazing," he sighed, giving her one of his signature boyish grins.

"You know," she began, tracing circles on his chest, "I'm pretty amazing at other things too."

He chuckled. "I remember, babe. But gimme a sec. I need some time to recover."

"I can help with that." She grinned, before she peppered him with kisses all over his chest. She sunk her teeth just above his clavicle, before sucking the spot. His fingers dug into her waist as the pressure from her mouth increased. Satisfied with the red mark she left on his skin, Amanda pulled away to send him a sly smile.

Nick narrowed his eyes. Lifting her by the hips, he flipped her onto her back and situated himself between her legs. His arms went under her shoulders to lock her in place. He rolled his hips against hers, watching as her mouth fell open from the delicious friction.

Trapping him with her legs around his ass, she rolled them to their sides. They made out, laughing and fondling each other between naughty bites and eager licks. She twisted in his hold until he was spooning her, snaking his arm to her front to caress her breasts. Her ass pressed into his groin, rubbing herself brazenly on him until she felt him grow stiff. His hand lowered to her sex, his skilled fingers tracing her slit.

He moaned in her ear as he encountered her wetness. "I guess you could say I'm pretty amazing, too."

Amanda gasped, breaking from his hold. "Cocky bastard."

He grabbed a hold of his erect cock. "Damn right."

She jumped on him and tried to cover his mouth with her hands, laughing together when he licked her palm. He rolled her onto her stomach and sprawled on top of her like a starfish.

Paradise was rolling in the sheets, limbs tangled up in blankets and belly-aching laughter stifled by pillows.

 _Something shifted once Nick and Amanda ceased laughing. He was staring into her eyes, admiring the way they glittered a bright blue. Her cheeks were flushed pink and her lips were red, not from the lipstick she wore to the party but from their kisses._

 _She bucked into him, back arching and hips rubbing into his. He shut his eyes tight and groaned. The urgency to sheathe himself within the tight heat of her walls suddenly became borderline agonizing._

 _When he opened his eyes, he noticed she was looking past him. Glancing over his shoulder, he was reminded of the mirror on the ceiling and he saw the way she chewed impatiently on her lip. He turned back to her, caressing her face before planting a chaste kiss to her mouth._

 _The smooth slide of his body slotting into her was better than any kind of high._

* * *

The couple's boundless sexual energy was remarkable, penetrating through the glass and provoking a reaction from her own body. He covered her. The sinews of his back flexing. Her face was pressed into his neck, blonde hair fanned across the pillow like a halo. A flash of white teeth scraping his skin to release a strangled moan. A leg draped over his while the other was spread. He slammed into her like an untamed beast, and she took it. Asked for it. Begged for it. Over and over and over.

Cigarette smoke billowed into the darkened room as a shadowed figure flicked ashes into a crystal tray. She took another drag, starting at blood-red lips and ending at blackened lungs. Downstairs, the party had gone wilder than anticipated. A thick fog of illicit seduction percolated in the atmosphere, suffocating the doomed lovers at the throat.

When they were presented the private room, they took it, receding into their own world.

The lit cigarette rested between two slim fingers; its glowing embers drifting to the glass floor.

A knock on the door had signalled the arrival of her guests. Seated on the velvet wingback chair, she turned slightly to see her bodyguard standing at the entryway.

"Madame," he addressed, "The sheriff's here and he's with someone. Says he's an old friend."

"I'm expecting them. Send them in."

She returned her attention back to the couple and studied them almost as if they were two anatomical specimens. There was no doubt the display aroused her, but more than anything, she was both fascinated and perplexed by their relationship. She plotted the timeline in her head, recalling the day she had first met them. They were a sweet, young couple — rather awkward in each other's company, but now it all made sense.

As she turned the volume dial down, the two men entered the room.

"How was the flight?" She asked casually, not tearing her eyes from the show.

"Flying coach was a bitch, but, boy, am I glad I made it in time for the party," said the man with the thick Southern accent. "God Almighty, that shit is wild down there. You sure know how to throw 'em."

"Why thank you, Charlie." She looked over her shoulder to smile at Atlanta's Chief Deputy.

"Hey, man, why don't you go see the _real_ party for yourself," said Ben Finch.

"What?" Charlie asked, confused. He followed to where Ben was pointing and took a few steps forward until he was adjacent to the Madame's chair. The fine-grained oak ended, and the rest of the floor was made of the same one-way mirror used in interrogation rooms. He followed their gaze and, immediately, he was jolted by the shameless display of fucking on the other side of the glass. "Oh my god."

Ben stood beside him and planted a steadying hand on his friend's shoulder. "Are those —"

"Wait," Charlie huffed. "Wait… That's… That's Rollins!"

The Madame rolled her eyes once the two men had figured out who was fucking on the other side of the glass. She looked back down at Nick and Amanda, and watched as his movements had slowed, becoming more sensual. She held his face in her hands and kissed him. The Madame sighed. She recognized the fine line the lovers toed between straight-up fucking and impassioned love making. It would've been charming had she not been made aware that they were two undercover detectives out to destroy her.

Two beautiful people with such a compulsion for sex needed to understand that it, too, could cause suffering. And she intended to remind them.

"Is that her partner? The one who works for NYPD?"

"So it's true?" The Madame turned to Charlie. "Ms. Rollins is Savannah's sister?"

"Yes, Amanda and Sav — I mean, Kim — are sisters," Charlie answered. He wiped his brow and loosened his tie. She couldn't blame him. Seeing the pornographic free show could make anybody with a pulse hot and bothered. The chief swallowed hard as Amanda broke the kiss and arched her back. "What were you planning to do with them?" he asked. "Look, I know your operations have been compromised since they infiltrated the club, but please don't harm Amanda and her sister. I know their mother. I'm a friend of hers. I'll handle it."

Ben clicked his tongue. "You don't need to worry about the little sister. I've already handled that fireball."

"What? What do you mean you've handled it? Where is she?"

Kim was Amanda's Achilles heel. The Madame already knew it, but it was good to have confirmation from a man who knew the sisters well.

"Charlie." The Madame's voice sliced through his panic. She pressed her lips together, trying to keep her annoyance subdued. "All I asked for was a group of young girls you could send to New York for my clients to break in. I never asked for a den mother who also happened to be a detective's sister. That's something you conveniently failed to mention."

"I didn't think it'd be a problem."

She raised a brow. "This is your mess and you should be the one to fix it. But frankly, I can't trust you to do that."

"Madame," he pleaded. "Give me a chance. I'm Amanda's boss. She listens to me."

"Is that why she went against orders and investigated this case even when you assured me it was buried?"

"I swear I thought I —" he stopped when he realized she wasn't interested in hearing his excuses. "Please. Let me have a go."

"Mandy's rather preoccupied right now, bud," Ben interrupted, chuckling at his own attempt at humour.

"Just sit back and enjoy the show, Charlie." She leaned into her chair and snuffed her cigarette. On the other side, Nick had lifted himself to his elbows as he slid inside her in long, deliberate strokes. As Amanda's climax approached, she gasped for breath. She clawed on his shoulders and down his back, leaving a trail of red lines in her wake.

The Madame switched the volume dial back on, until the sound of Nick grunting and Amanda panting filled the room.

"I'll handle the honeymooning detectives," she declared. "And once I'm done with them — Charlie, you'll have the honour of burying the bodies."

Amanda cried out her orgasm. Her back arching into him and her head lifting off the bed. She surrendered into pure rapture, and after a few more thrusts, her ill-fated lover followed her to their graves.


	25. Malfeasance

_**AN:** Hello. I'm back for another update. At this rate, I'm updating once every two weeks, which doesn't seem too bad. I want to thank those who reviewed and those who enjoyed the secret meeting upstairs. I got the idea for the one-way mirror from Magic City, and it also reminded me of the Officer Guapo one-shot I did for the Good Cop, Bad Cop series (lol, those were good times in the rollaro fandom). Any theories on the Madame? PM me or tweet me or leave your guesses in your review. We're coming close to the revelation and I'm interested to know how predictable I am. Enjoy this chapter! Please review. My rollaro babies would appreciate it :)_

* * *

 **Hush**

 **25\. Malfeasance**

* * *

 _Brown eyes are ordinary._

Throughout Amanda's life, she had been told by people that her blue eyes were beautiful. These kind strangers compared them to gemstones — anywhere in the spectrum between aquamarine and sapphire. When her cheeks blossomed with pink timidity, her eyes shined an even more brilliant blue. One time, she returned the lovely words when she complimented her neighbour's eyes — the colour of coffee with a splash of milk. In response, the woman shook her head and said, "brown eyes are ordinary."

Amanda begged to differ.

Staring into Nick's eyes was like being wrapped up in a warm, affectionate embrace. The kind where she could tuck her head in his chest and feel protected from any outside forces. It was a position that revealed his vulnerability. Pressed against his heart, she could hear its rhythmic thumps, like a secret song hummed in her ear. In one blink, the depth of his eyes would reveal something raw. They pierced through layers of defences with an intensity of fresh ink on paper, speaking without sound and devouring without breath. Brown eyes were an enigma, just like brown-eyed boys.

They were on their sides facing each other. Nick's finger was tracing the outline of her waist, crawling up the incline of her hip. His touches were gentle, but his stare didn't waver.

Amanda barely felt the light skim of his fingertips on her skin, but she felt the knots tighten in the pit of her stomach. Everything had been fine — blissful, actually — just moments ago; but as soon as her body was coming down from the last orgasm, it decided to turn against her. She ignored it at first, not wanting to leave her lover and the comfort of the bed. But it was becoming more and more unbearable by the second. She planted her hand over her stomach and winced.

"Hey, what's wrong?" Nick asked as he placed his hand over hers.

She looked down briefly at their hands joined together and planted over her stomach. There was something disturbingly maternal about the image. The thought quickly bursted as she felt a bubbling rise to her throat. Rolling away from him, she tripped off the bed. Her hands flew over her mouth as she ran toward the bathroom.

"Amanda!" She heard him calling after her.

Making it just in time to stand over the toilet, she vomited. As the first wave of nausea hit, she slumped down to the floor and rested her forearms on the seat. To add to the mess of her current situation, her head was now pounding and her eyes were welling up with tears. She didn't even feel like crying, but her body seemed to want to respond in a manner in which she had no control.

"Amanda —"

"No! Stay back," she blurted as she threw an arm behind her to stop him from making another move. His voice was near, filling the windowless room. "Don't go in here. Please."

"I can help. Do you want me to get you a glass of water? I can stroke your back if it makes you feel better. What do you need me to do?"

"I just need you to leave me alone." She looked at the murky contents of the toilet and felt another wave coming up. "Trust me. You don't want to see this."

"Trust that I've seen worse," he tried to assure her. "Please let me help."

Revolted by the sight of her own vomit, she sealed her eyes tight, crinkling at the corners.

"Now would be the worst time to be stubborn."

"Nick —" her neck snapped around, the momentum setting her off-kilter. "Stop! Just stop!"

Standing at the entrance to the bathroom, Nick appeared reluctant to accept that he had lost the battle. He tugged his earlobe as he followed her instructions to stand back.

Amanda groaned as the pain pulled deep in her belly. It felt a lot like the period cramps she had back before her doctor got her a prescription for birth control. Only these were ten times worse than she remembered. Crossing her arms over her waist, she clutched at her sides, letting the superficial pain from her fingernails distract her from the visceral pain.

Letting his worry take over, Nick sat on the cool tile floor beside her. She felt the warmth of his proximity, but made no effort to ward him off. He tentatively touched her. She tensed for a moment but relaxed as he rubbed circles on her lower back.

"I'm sorry. This is so gross."

"It's ok…"

Feeling a scratch in her throat, she lurched forward and hung her head over the bowl. She retched again, while Nick held her hair away from her face. When she was done, she saw his outstretched hand offering a few sheets of toilet paper. She wiped her mouth before she frowned in his direction. "Speaking of gross…"

He smiled softly. "This doesn't even come close to cleaning toddler poop off the walls."

"The walls?"

"Try having an independent two-year-old who thinks she can change her own diaper," Nick chuckled as he was reminded of the memory of his daughter. "She was so excited to show me that she came barrelling out of her room, tripping over a toy, and flinging a dirty diaper on the wall."

Amanda laughed, already feeling much better. She reached up to flush the toilet, for Nick's sake especially. He wasn't showing it in his face that he was grossed out, but even a saint wouldn't be _ok_ with being in such close proximity to puke.

"You good?"

"Yeah. I think it's over," she answered.

"You sure?" he asked again, brows furrowing and hands rubbing her arms. "How's your head? Any dizziness?"

"I'm fine, doc." She rolled her eyes. "It was just my stomach acting funny. You know, it could just be the drug wearing off."

He looked skeptical.

"What about you? How're you feeling?"

"I don't feel sick. But you might be right, I think the X is wearing off."

"No side effects," she scowled at him, as she pushed off the floor. She headed to the sink to clean herself up. Staring back into their reflection, she caught him studying her with intense curiosity. "Do you mind?"

"Huh?"

"Can I have some privacy? Please."

He blinked back a few times. "Yeah. Of course." He staggered back until he hit the wall. She was gripping her upper arms and biting down on her bottom lip, still embarrassed over what had just happened. Nick backed out to the doorway, giving her one last look. "I'll just be out here if you need me. Waiting. But take your time, Amanda. Take all the time. I'm not going anywhere. "

* * *

Amanda had left the bed and Nick soon followed, leaving a still view of the disheveled sheet and blankets. The Madame's brows creased as she wondered why the couple had left in such haste.

Polished to perfect transparency, the one-way mirror was what Ben called a 'glorified glory hole'. Breathing heavy, the sheriff was lying on top of the glass, his cheek pressed onto the cool floor and his hand rubbing the bulge in his pants. He groaned in frustration as the couple left. He had begged the Madame to send a girl up to relieve him, but she wanted to focus on the two lovers without any external distractions.

Ben pushed himself up from the floor. The sides of his nose were red; his nostrils stained with a fine, white powder. Behind her, the Madame could hear Charlie thinking. He wasn't quite as enthralled by the free show as the other crooked cop.

She steepled her fingers over her lips, contemplating her next move as if she were playing a game of chess.

Psychological manipulation had always been her preferred method of settling a score with clients who deserted her and threatened to expose her. No bodies. No paper trail. It was clean.

That's why she was so cautious about revealing her identity. No one knew who she was apart from a select few she trusted. Leo Fiorentino was one of those men, and she knew somehow the two undercover detectives had something to do with his timely arrest. Months ago, she would've said that Leo would never snitch on her; but she had been rather hard on him since he physically tortured one of her girls. She temporarily took away his privileges and used his private security to conduct background checks on new clients. Leo knew the Madame would be furious with him for leading the two detectives right into the sex society. He had two options: he either proved his trust by staying quiet or he cooperated with the police and betrayed her.

The Madame didn't have time to wait it out. Besides, Nick and Amanda were special. No other law enforcement agency had ever gotten far enough to infiltrate her operation. She once had Vice and FBI chasing their own tails, trying to build a case against the trafficking ring. Nick and Amanda were too smart for their own good, and they needed to be properly rewarded for it.

"Ben, I need you to tell Raven to set up Mr. Conroy at the south-facing bedroom. I wish to have a word with him in half an hour." She ordered the town sheriff. He did her bidding because he owed it to her. He also got a sick sense of satisfaction being her second-in-command. She couldn't blame him. There was something intoxicating about power. Ben was strapping on an earpiece when she remembered the lovers. "Would you also mind telling Ruby to take the detectives back to the party. I've reserved a spot in the balcony for them, as well as a bottle of champagne. We might as well let them enjoy this party, since it'll likely be their last."

"On it, Madame."

There was a withdrawn quality to her anger; it was borne from confidence. No wonder the people who worked for her were so resigned in fear that they had no choice but to do as she ordered. Even strong, relatively powerful men like Ben and Charlie had to say 'yes'.

"Madame —"

She held a hand up to stop him. She had an idea what he was about to say. He was going to ask what she meant about this party being their last. He was going to ask if she was serious about digging a grave in the woods for their bodies. He was going to ask if the Madame wanted to commit a double-murder.

"There's a key on the table by the door. I want you to make yourself at home in the lake house. Get acquainted with some of the girls. Enjoy yourself tonight and save your energy for the rest of the week, because next Saturday, I'll have you doing quite a bit of manual labour." She answered him, without him even having to ask. He released a heavy breath, and just like Ben before him, he complied.

* * *

"Raven? Do I have Raven on the line?"

"No, sir, this is Ruby." The high-pitched voice said through the static. "You want to hit 8-9-1 if you want to get Raven."

There was a muffled response before another screech.

Ruby pressed the earpiece farther down until it was practically lodged in her ear canal. She didn't get anything that Ben said. There was virtually no cell reception on the island, and at least five kilometres surrounding the lake house. The Madame had installed these transmitters designed to block wireless communications. While they could still use old-school walkie talkies in place of cell phones, they simply didn't work as well as they could.

"Shit. Raven —"

"— Ruby," she corrected.

"While I've got you, I need you to take them down to the south-facing bedroom."

"What? I thought —"

"— You thought wrong. Just do as I say."

"Roger that, sir." Ruby sighed as she stood in front of the door to one of many bedrooms. She had left the Santiagos in there about two hours ago, and as she was directed, she was supposed to bring them back out to the party. She muttered to herself as she straightened the indecent skirt she was wearing. "I guess there's a change of plans."

Ruby took the couple down a series of hallways toward the room with the best view of the lake. She glanced over her shoulder a few times just to make sure they were following her. They cooperated and didn't give her any trouble; they didn't even ask where she was taking them. Nick looked too worried about whatever was going on with his wife; his brows permanently etched in concern as he studied her. Ruby could see why he would be worried. Amanda's face was pale as a ghost.

When they arrived at the door, Ruby searched through her keyring for the key that would unlock it. From the corner of her eye, she watched as Nick brushed his hand over Amanda's cheek. It was a sweet and loving gesture — a rare sighting in this place.

The room, although designed similarly as the last, was much larger by comparison. A king-sized bed anchored the space, and either wall was occupied by a desk or an armoire. The shades were drawn and all the lights were turned off, except for a single standing lamp at the corner of the room. It bathed the space in faded, amber light.

"Ruby, what are you doing here?" A woman appeared from another doorway. She had jet-black hair pulled tight into a ponytail, and her lips were the colour of ripe cranberries. It was Raven. She nudged her head to the right. "I've got a client here with me."

"What? Ben told me to take them to this room." She pointed at the clueless couple. Nick's hands were anchored on Amanda's waist, and he was leaning into her, whispering something in her ear.

"He's such a fucking moron," Raven groaned, rolling her eyes. "Even by the sound of our voice, he thinks we're the same person."

Ruby groaned in agreement. Ben was often confusing the two of them even though they looked nothing alike.

"This is my client's room for the night. Ben meant to tell you to take the Santiagos back to the party."

"Knew it." She nodded at Raven, before turning back to the couple. "Sorry about the confusion. If you'll follow me —"

"Who the fuck are these two?"

Ruby whipped around to see the silver-haired man stepping into the room. He was one of the Madame's special clients — one of the few she actually met with in the flesh, and one of the few who paid a good amount of money to have sex with underage prostitutes. Had Ruby known the extent of what she was getting herself into when she signed up to be a 'waitress' at an exclusive club, she would have never sold her soul to the Madame. But it was too late now. And she had no choice but to bow her head and bend to the will of these sick bastards.

"I apologize, Mr. Conroy. We'll be on our way out."

"No, no… Stay," he said, and his voice was laced thick with alcohol and barbiturates. "There's no need to rush."

"We really must go."

"Leave the blonde."

Ruby stammered, looking back at Raven and pleading with her eyes for some back-up; but her friend was just as dumbfounded. "Sh — She's not one of us."

Nick took a step forward and placed an arm around Amanda, shielding her from the older man. His eyes were staring him down with such severity. "That's right. She's my wife."

* * *

 _August 15_

Crossing the garden toward the Huxley's home, Amanda inhaled the blend of salty air and freshly cut grass. The gardner was working on the hedges surrounding the property, the sound of snipping shears adding to the muted sounds of nature.

It was the middle of the afternoon and she had slept through much of the day. Since arriving back from the Wolfsbane party, her body had felt even more broken down than ever. Nick did everything he could with their limited resources. He made chicken noodle soup at three in the morning. He ran her a warm bath, drowning it in fragrant epsom salts and soothing oils. He held her hair back as she threw up the little she ate of the soup; not because she didn't enjoy his cooking, but because she had lost her appetite and her ability to digest food. When she felt bedridden, he collapsed in bed beside her and cuddled her when she was cold, and gave her space when she suddenly felt feverish. Eventually, playing doctor, especially after the day they had, became too exhausting and Nick succumbed to sleep.

When he woke up four hours later, she was slumped by the toilet, her head resting on her arm. It was the first time in over 24 hours that she had gotten a solid amount of sleep, even if the position was uncomfortable and she was inches away from falling into her own puke. She barely remembered what happened next. Nick had carried her upstairs and laid her down on the bed, wrapping her up in blankets when her body shivered. He set a glass of water down on the bedside table and a bottle of Tylenol. It gave her a sense déja vu, briefly reminding her of the time he did the same when she got drunk. He had no reason to be nice to her then, and yet he was.

She entered through the open french doors of the Huxley's home. Nick had left a note, saying he was in the garage working with Phillip on one of his restorations; but he wasn't there when she checked. She had been so sick since getting back from the party that they had no time to talk about one major discovery from last night. The man who was led into the same room was First Deputy Commissioner — Joseph Conroy. The second most powerful man in the New York Police Department.

Nick said he recognized the man immediately. The man's picture was plastered on every precinct in the city. Conroy was there on the stage the day Nick graduated from the academy; his signature was on the official form that promoted him from officer to detective.

The fact that they had someone that powerful in the NYPD involved in the sex society smelled like a cover-up.

Walking farther into the house, she crossed the arch that led into the living room. Phillip was on the couch, reading the paper. "Amanda?"

"I'm sorry for intruding —"

"No. You're not. You know you're always welcome in this house." He smiled warmly as he set the paper down on the coffee table. "Can I help you with anything?"

"I was looking for Nick. He mentioned he'd be at the garage with you, but neither of you were there. I saw our car in the driveway so I assumed he couldn't have gone far."

"I told him he could test drive the Ferrari."

"Oh."

Phillip crossed one leg over the other and frowned. "He wanted to take you out for a drive along the coast, but you were still sleeping. He mentioned you weren't feeling well."

"I'm fine. I was just tired." Amanda shrugged it off.

"Are you sure you don't want my medical opinion? It's free." He laughed softly.

"Thanks, Phillip," she said. "But honestly, I'm fine."

Clasping his hands over his knee, he leaned back and studied her with furrowed brow. "Headache and nausea again?"

She arched a brow, crossing her arms across her chest.

"Amanda, do you mind if I ask you a rather personal question. As a doctor."

"Um… Sure. Go ahead."

"When was the last time you had your period?"

Her eyes widened and her arms fell to her sides. "What? No — This is not — No way." Her head shook as she vehemently denied what the doctor was implying. It couldn't be possible. "I'm on the pill."

She wore a plastic smile — a defence mechanism — the kind people wore when they were stifling a scream. She figured if she kept smiling, then she wouldn't burst into tears.

"Do you take your birth control as instructed?"

What kind of question was that, she thought to herself. She was slightly offended that Phillip would think she didn't know how to take her oral contraceptives, even though the spiel had been explained to her by doctors and pharmacists.

"Yeah, I do," she countered defensively. "Well, most of the time. Sometimes I forget, but I double up the next day. I mean, I've missed a few days here and there since I was 16, but I never got pregnant." She realized how stupid she sounded, but she needed to rationalize her bad habit of gambling with birth control. If skipping a pill had never caused a pregnancy scare, why would it have started now?

"And your period?" Phillip asked, completely unfazed by the topic just like a seasoned medical professional should be.

"It's always been pretty irregular," she explained, more to herself now than to him. "Phillip, I'm not pregnant."

Terrified didn't even begin to explain how Amanda felt about the possibility of carrying a child. Of course she had imagined motherhood; but it always seemed like such a faraway concept. A concept that stretched farther and farther away the more she progressed in her career.

"I'm not saying you are, but from what you've told me, you're experiencing some early signs of pregnancy. I'd recommend you take a pregnancy test just to be sure," Phillip advised. "If it makes you more comfortable, I could give you the phone number of a colleague of mine. She's one of the best OB-GYNs in the Hamptons. She's been delivering babies since before you were born."

"Don't worry about it." She shook her head. "Thank you, but I think I'm just going to pee on a stick and hope to god that I'm not —"

"— Of course. I completely understand," Phillip sighed wistfully. He caught sight of a framed picture of him and his wife, before he turned back to Amanda. "Gracie and I never felt ready to have children, especially with me being so busy with work. When we finally felt like we had the time to raise a child… Well, it just never worked out quite the way we planned."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

His mouth quirked up into a small smile, but his eyes told a completely different story. "Does Nick know how you feel about having kids? I only ask because I've gotten to know your husband these last few months, and he seems like he would make an excellent father."

"He would," Amanda agreed. She felt that flutter in her heart, swirling all the way down to her belly. She didn't know if it was that light, top-of-the-rollercoaster feeling when she'd sometimes catch Nick looking right back at her, or if it was another swell of nausea. "I just don't know if I'm ready to be a parent."

* * *

The smudged windows of the convenience store were marked with faded signs of last week's specials. The linoleum floors had just been hastily mopped with heavy-duty chemicals, leaving them squeaky clean.

Approaching the counter, Amanda cast a tight smile at the cashier — a red-haired teenager who looked too eager to be there. It was likely her first summer job.

"Congratulations!" the girl exclaimed upon seeing the two brands of pregnancy tests plopped on the counter.

"I — I haven't taken the test, so…"

"Right! Duh!" The girl smacked her own forehead. "Geez, I can be so stupid sometimes. I'm really sorry."

"No, it's ok. Don't worry about it."

"No. It's not ok," she stated firmly. "I really am sorry. Terribly sorry."

Amanda forced a smile, assuring the teenager that there were no hard feelings between them. But the girl wasn't done.

"Like, how awful would it be if I said 'congratulations' and it turned out you weren't pregnant? How disappointing must that be?"

"Do you mind?" Amanda asked, this time with an edge to her voice. "I'm kind of in a rush."

The girl's big, green eyes widened and she slapped a hand over her mouth. "Oh crap! I just assumed you and your husband would be happy about the pregnancy. But what if you didn't want a baby? Not now, at least. I mean, women can choose whether or not they want to have a baby. But I'm just saying, you look like you'd be a great mom… a really cool mom… like, that is a really nice shirt. I bet your baby would wear the cutest, little outfits." Thankfully, while the girl was rambling, she was actually ringing up the pregnancy tests through the barcode scanner. Green numbers flashed on the black strip. "Your total is $25.47. Would you like to donate two dollars to the Susan G. Komen Breast Cancer Re —"

Amanda slapped thirty dollars on the counter. "Keep the change."

"Have a nice day, ma'am!" the girl called out as Amanda headed for the door. "I hope you get the results you want!"

So rattled by what had happened inside the store, Amanda wasn't exactly watching where she was going. She stepped out and turned the corner, running right into another woman. "Oh god. I'm so sorry," she said, hands on the other woman's arms to help her steady herself. When she looked up to see the woman's face, she immediately recognized her as Teresa Finch, the sheriff's wife.

Teresa flinched from Amanda's hold, taking a step back.

The blood-shot eyes surrounded by puffy circles, the quivering lip, and the splotchy cheeks — Teresa had the face of vulnerability. Matched with her constant need to pull the sleeves of her shirt to hide the finger-shaped bruises on her arms, there was no doubt she had been recently victimized.

"Teresa, are you ok?"

"I'm great. Would you excuse me?" She stepped around Amanda, but she stopped as soon as she felt the loose grip on her wrist.

"Hey, if you need someone to come with you to file a report on what he's doing to you —"

"Are you kidding?" Teresa asked her incredulously. "My husband is the town sheriff."

"We can go to county and report there," Amanda offered, even though she was getting nothing but resistance from her. "Look, I can drive you to the hospital and we can get those bruises checked."

"I'm not going to the emergency room because I have bruises on my arms."

Amanda sighed. "You're hunched forward and your arm is wrapped around your waist." She suspected the woman had a broken rib, but didn't want to make her even more defensive than she already was. "How badly did Ben hurt you?"

Teresa didn't answer.

Amanda tried to place a comforting hand on Teresa's arm, but Teresa pulled away. "Don't touch me!"

"I just want to help."

"Why do you even care?" She hissed venomously. "You think you can just pretend to be a saint and come to a battered woman's rescue, when we all know this is all an act."

"This isn't an act."

"I know who you are. I know what you and your sick husband do. You're perverts," she spat. Amanda stared back at her in shock. She knew Ben's wife would have some idea what was going on; after all, she was helping move the money around. But it was still unnerving hearing it straight from her. "You pay money to have sex with other sick freaks. So don't try to tell me what's going on in my marriage, when you and your husband can't even stay faithful to each other."

"Teresa, this isn't about me and Nick," Amanda replied, trying to meet the other woman's eyes. "Your husband shouldn't be able to get away with this."

"And you shouldn't be able to get away with ruining the lives of people in this community," Teresa countered. "Everyone here is running scared, paid to make sure your reputations are protected. Then, you have the audacity to come to town and act like you're one of the good ones."

"Then why do you work for them?"

"You think I have a choice? You think anyone here has a choice?" She was in tears now. The makeup she wore on her face was streaking down her cheeks, and the purple circles around her eyes were emerging. Amanda felt a knot twist in her stomach; and, instinctively, her hands clenched into fists. Teresa was trapped. And although she wouldn't acknowledge it out of fear, she knew. Amanda didn't have to remind her. She sniffled and wiped the corners of her eyes. "People have lost their businesses and their homes for saying 'no' to people like you. You think I never tried to stop? Why do you think Ben treats me like this?"

"I'm sorry."

Teresa sighed. She raised her head and willed herself to stop the tears. Amanda stepped aside to let her have the way, but just before Teresa headed down the sidewalk, she caught a glimpse of the plastic bag. It was made of thin white plastic, so she didn't have to peer inside to figure out what Amanda had purchased. Teresa gave her the dirtiest look she had ever received in her life. Worse than any look any man ever gave her.

"I hope you know who the father is."


	26. Chase

**AN:** _Hey! Back with another update. I'm too exhausted to write a long author's note, so I'll just say thank you to the loyal readers and reviewers. I hope you enjoy this chapter, and appreciate what these two silly characters do best. Read, enjoy, and review!_

* * *

 **Hush**

 **26\. Chase**

* * *

Wide open sky wrapped around the arid earth. Not a single cloud to sully the gradient of blue. The visor was down and her Ray-Bans were up, shielding her eyes from the harsh rays of the sun. Looking out on the road ahead, Amanda watched as heat waves rose off the concrete.

Traffic was light enough to keep moving, but heavy enough that she could tail Ben's car up highway 24 without drawing suspicion. Amanda tapped her fingers on the steering wheel as the cars slowed and approached a busy exit. She had the volume up on the radio, but her ears were tuned to the hum of rubber tires decelerating and braking.

Ben's black SUV was two cars in front of her. She could barely make out the shape of his head, but knew he was sporting a pair of aviator sunglasses. As she passed the exit, the car in front of her signalled to go to the rightmost lane. The driver stalled. Ahead, Ben's car surged forward down the open road. Amanda honked her horn and the driver in front of her switched lanes suddenly, nearly causing a collision. An oncoming car stepped on the brakes fast enough, screeching and burning tires on the concrete.

Pressing her foot on the pedal, Amanda accelerated past the speed limit. She maneuvered around the two lanes, passing cars and ignoring the collective middle fingers she received from many of the drivers who had 'baby on board' stickers.

Eventually, she caught sight of the SUV and she breathed a sigh of relief. She hadn't lost him. Darting her eyes to the GPS, she realized they had passed another exit leading to one of the places she suspected he was keeping the girls.

The traffic had thinned and she had no choice but to drive behind Ben's car. She adjusted the baseball cap, lowering it slightly so it would cover her face. It wouldn't have mattered anyway. If Ben paid attention to the car and the plates, he would have known immediately that he was being followed.

Amanda knew she should have been more careful, but the fog of this undercover operation blinded her from knowing what Ben was capable of.

Half an hour down a long straight, Ben took an exit. It was a small town with big-box stores and parking lot after parking lot. As she advanced on his vehicle, the side roads had become few and far between. The generic town dissolved into row upon row of tall pines. The road narrowed into two lanes, and she could feel the wind blowing past every time a car drove on the opposite side. She tried to maintain her distance, but knew she would have to turn back soon. The long straight ahead of her meant the chase was over; she couldn't continue following him without getting caught.

Amanda turned into a side road and stopped the car, wheels kicking dirt and gravel into the air. Her knuckles were white. She was frustrated. This far into the case with less than a month left to complete the assignment, and she felt like she was languishing.

On the passenger seat, the unopened boxes of pregnancy tests taunted her. She couldn't decide which was worse — failing the investigation or coming out of it a mother.

She leaned her forehead against the wheel and clasped her hands over her head. Her back heaved and she sobbed, letting the tears fall.

* * *

 _ **12 hours ago**_

"Do you think the NYPD knows?"

Nick glanced in her direction, the space between his brows knotted in confusion. "Know about what?"

"Everything," Amanda answered vaguely. She hopped off the kitchen counter where she and Nick were prepping dinner. They were attempting to make spaghetti bolognese — a recipe he learned from his Italian grandfather. She picked up the wooden spoon and ran her finger down the length of it, picking up some sauce before sticking her finger in her mouth. "You know? The trafficking ring and how it's connected to the sex society. Don't you think the NYPD knows about the Madame? If people like Conroy are paying to be part of the society, she must be blackmailing them to keep them quiet. And in turn, they're protecting her."

She held up the spoon to his mouth and he tasted it for himself, nodding approvingly when it tasted decent enough. It didn't hold a candle to his grandfather's bolognese, but Amanda still claimed she could devour the entire pot in one sitting.

"There's no question. I agree Conroy is dirty. But we don't know for sure if there are other people in the department involved."

Amanda raised her brows, and gave him a challenging look. "Finch."

"Finch isn't NYPD."

"But he's still a cop," she argued. "Nick, wake up. There's a sex trafficking ring that's been running for years, and no one's ever come this close to finding out who's behind it. Someone in the department is covering it up."

"You do remember it was my bosses who sent us here, when APD didn't want you touching this case."

She stood opposite him and maintained eye contact. Her hands were firmly planted on her hips, while he was leaned casually against the kitchen counter.

"You're not listening to me," she said.

"Amanda." He groaned as he turned around to focus on the pot on the stove. "Can we talk about this later?"

"Someone like Conroy — someone that high up should be raising red flags."

"And I said I agreed with that," Nick replied exasperatedly. "But I really don't think this is some conspiracy. Yeah, there's a possibility Conroy knows about this investigation, but it didn't have to go through his desk before it got approval. There's just as much of a chance that he doesn't know we're undercover."

"I think he knows." Amanda chewed on her lip and scratched the side of her neck. "If he knows, I don't see what would stop him from alerting the Madame."

Nick sighed and looked over his shoulder to meet her eyes. "I'll talk to my captain and ask him what we should do next."

"Wait. Before you do that, I think we should hold off on telling your squad until we have more evidence."

"You want to wait for the next party?"

"No," she answered. "We need to get to the Madame before the next party."

* * *

It was like déjà vu. Waking up at the crack of dawn because he could sense the cold emptiness from the other side of the bed. Nick supposed he should have expected it, especially after he disagreed with her about NYPD's role in the trafficking ring. He wasn't the least bit surprised Amanda had left without telling him — that he was, again, kept out of the picture of her plans. It was almost her subconscious way of expressing her defiance.

Amanda was gone. She took the car with her. He left her calls and messages he knew she wouldn't answer. He was angry about it, no doubt; but there was a passiveness to his anger. The absence of trust had irritated him in the beginning, but now it just made him weary.

Nick hated feeling helpless. And, while normally he would have channeled this feeling through a restless search for Amanda's whereabouts, he was too resentful to act on it. At its worst, he almost wished something would go wrong just to teach her a lesson.

He took it back faster than he could finish the thought. The guilt tethered to his gut, anchoring him down to a state of powerlessness.

The shock of cold as he dove into the pool intensified those thoughts borne of insecurity. Nick had hoped that swimming would help clear his mind, but the silence underwater had only turned up the volume. The shame he felt for hoping she would be in danger just so she would see the error of her ways, just so he could say 'told you so', just so he could swoop in and be her saviour — it was slow-acting poison flowing through his veins.

After swimming a series of laps, he surfaced at the edge of the pool. His back was turned, but he heard the collection of voices coming from the patio. Rubbing the water out of his eyes, he caught Paula winking in his direction. Grace was serving brunch outside and she had invited the real housewives of Southampton — or at least, most of them; Violet wasn't in attendance.

The women sat around the table, smiling and laughing while sipping mimosas. Grace's eyes connected with his, and she waved at him. "Nicolas, come join us for breakfast."

He smiled and waved at the women, before he swam to the opposite end of the pool. Resting his forearms on the edge, he looked up to see Grace and her country club friends staring at him.

Bronwyn pressed her lips together to suppress a smile. "Had I known you had this handsome man swimming laps in your pool, I would have come over more often."

"That's right," Paula added, "you never mentioned the eye candy in your invitation."

"Oh, ladies. The man is married." Grace cast a smirk in his direction. "And quite happy, too, might I add. Aren't you, Nicolas?"

He blinked back dumbly, forgetting the question momentarily. Grace's brows arched, her mouth curling into a slight frown. Combing his hair back, he then nodded. "Yeah. I'm happier than I've ever been."

"Why don't you take a little break from your workout?" asked Bronwyn.

"Yes. Come chat with us," added Sally Livingston.

"I'd love to, but I really should head back." Nick got out of the pool and walked over to the recliner where he had left his towel. He didn't miss the way the women ogled him as he towelled himself dry. While he found it rather flattering, it made him feel uneasy. He expected it at the sex parties, where he knew Paula was always in attendance, but here, in Grace's home — they could have been a little more discreet.

"Nicolas, would you mind coming here for a second?" Grace asked sweetly. "I promise we won't keep you long."

Hanging the towel over his shoulders, he approached the women. A spread of jewelry over navy velvet was laid out on the table. He didn't know much about diamonds but based on the sheer size and the intricate cuts, he knew some of those pieces were well worth over a million dollars.

"We'd love to get a man's opinion on what to wear for next week's fundraiser at the club. A jeweller has asked us to wear some of his pieces to help auction them off for charity," Grace explained as she picked up one of the necklaces. The stones caught the light, radiating rainbows of colour on the deep velvet.

"Uh… I really don't know much about jewelry," he admitted.

"Nonsense!" Bronwyn cried out, her hand slapping his bicep. She kept her hand on him, the warmth of her skin a contrast to the cool water dotted on his arm. "I've seen that ring on your wife's finger. You have fabulous taste."

Nick looked over the options on the table. They were all impressive, but most were on the ostentatious side. He could see them being displayed in a museum, but it almost seemed too garish on a woman. "Ok. Well… I think I like this one the most." He picked up a delicate white gold chain with a thin disc surrounding a single, yet significantly sized diamond.

"It's a little small." Paula sulked, shoulders dropping.

"Rather simple," Bronwyn added to the disappointment.

He chuckled softly, his nose crinkling in amusement. He didn't pick the one necklace because it was probably the only thing below six figures, but because it was the only one he could picture Amanda wearing.

"I think it looks understated yet chic," Sally said. "Classically beautiful just like his wife."

"Speaking of Amanda, where is she?" Grace asked. "You must tell her to come join us and pick out what she'd like to wear to the fundraiser."

"She went out to run some errands, but when she gets back, I'll let her know."

"Oh, I think she's back." Bronwyn spoke up. She waved at Amanda, who was walking briskly down the earthen path to the cabin. "Amanda, darling!"

She waved back, but she kept walking. "Hi y'all! Really nice seeing you ladies." And with that she turned down the embankment before any of the women could call for her to join them. Grace had her arm raised, and she slowly set it down. Her brows were knotted in confusion, and she smiled at her guests, hoping to placate the awkwardness of what had just happened.

"That was a little rude," Paula observed, before sipping her mimosa.

"Sorry," Nick apologized. "She's been feeling under the weather these past few days. I told her she should be getting some rest, but you know how stubborn…" He chose not to finish the thought when he noticed how it piqued the women's interest. "Actually, I'm sorry. If you'll excuse me, I'm going to go check on my wife."

"Phillip mentioned she was sick," Grace said. "I hope she's all right."

"Tell her I hope she feels better soon," Sally added.

"Yes, please, Nicolas. Send Amanda our regards."

He nodded. "I will."

* * *

"Amanda!"

She heard his calls — Nick was sure of it — but she kept stalking toward the cabin. "Wait up!" Her steps became faster, her strides longer. She raced down the embankment as soon as she was outside the line of sight of Grace and her friends. He sprinted after her, the water on his skin wicking away into the humid air.

He whipped the door open, slamming it against the wall. He barrelled in, yelling her name.

She was pacing as her hands were running through her hair. Behind her, the view was serene — a calm sea as flat as the clear, blue sky. It was so far removed from the storm that was about to descend upon her.

"When I call, you answer!" He barked, a flicker of regret marring his face when he realized he sounded just like his father.

She sneered, looking up at the ceiling while shaking her head.

His hands gripped her shoulders, forcing her to stop pacing so she'd face him. Her chin jutted out as she stared back defiantly. His eyes burned intensely, trying to figure out why she insisted on keeping secrets from him. "What the fuck was that? And where the hell have you been?"

She shoved him off. Nick took a step back, his palms tingling from the loss of contact. Crossing her arms, Amanda walked around him to create some distance.

"Answer my question!" He spun around to see her standing on the other side of the coffee table. She stared at him blankly, her head tilted to the side. "The silent treatment? Again?"

She shrugged.

Groaning, Nick ran his hand over his face. He could feel the blood rushing up his neck, the throbbing veins pulsing with fire. Without thinking, he picked up a glass object from the desk; he wasn't even entirely sure what it was — some ornamental tchotchke the Huxleys acquired through their travels. Next thing he knew, it shattered on the hard wood. From the corner of his eye, he watched Amanda's shoulders rise and her eyes screw shut.

"Fuck!" That full-circle moment was complete. He was his father.

She opened her eyes, her chest heaved in a sustained breath.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to do that." He knew it sounded stupid. It wasn't like he accidentally destroyed property. His anger, as per usual, had caused him to act impulsively. "I'm not sorry that I'm angry though," he said quietly as he looked up to meet her eyes. "I'm really sick of you lying to me. I thought we had settled all our issues. I thought I'd made it clear that you could trust me, but apparently you still don't think I deserve to be a part of this investigation."

She ignored him, walking toward the stairs.

"Amanda, I'm tired of proving myself to you."

"I never asked you to do that," she declared as she stopped in her tracks.

"No, you never did, because you never gave me a chance in the first place."

She reached the stairs, her hand resting on the banister.

"Don't walk away from me." Any second now, he would ignite and he would shatter more than just some silly, little decorative object. "Where were you?"

"You don't need to know."

He took a wide stance and clenched his jaw. "Amanda, where were you?"

She looked over her shoulder and sighed. "I followed Finch."

"Why?" he asked, biting the inside of his cheek as he immediately thought of the worst case scenario. He needed to remind himself that she was standing right in front of him; she was completely unharmed, as far as he could tell. "Is it because you ran into his wife the other day? What were you planning to do exactly? Avenge her?"

"No. I thought he would lead me to the girls."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't think it was important."

"How many times do we have to have this discussion? I told you that I need to be a part of this investigation just as much you do."

She didn't say a word. She took a step down the stairs and paced. Standing on the other side of the table, they maintained their distance. Her back was turned and her hands clutched her arms, protecting her body. Nick could read her body language. She would always breach his trust, because that was something she always would do. It wouldn't matter if he was good to her. As long as Amanda believed she was bound to break everything good in her life, she would never trust or depend on him.

"I was looking for Kim," she confessed.

"So?"

"My sister assaulted you. Forgive me for wanting to keep you away from her. I know she might not be someone worth saving to you, but she's still my family."

"So you assumed I wouldn't understand?" He asked in disbelief, his voice rising once again. Never did he say Kim wasn't worth saving, despite what she had done to him. _To both of them_. "Thanks for caring about my feelings," he added sarcastically, "but the last thing I need is you keeping things from me in an attempt to protect me."

"I didn't tell you because I didn't need your protection. I was just following him, ok? If he led me to Kim then I wasn't going to act until I had back-up." She gave him a serious look. "You're looking at me like you don't believe me."

"You've lied to me over and over again. Honestly, I don't know if I could ever believe you."

"Fine!" she cried out. "Don't believe me!"

"That's easy." He scoffed, folding his arms across his puffed-out chest. "I'd be stupid to fall for anything that comes out of your mouth."

"Fuck you, Nick."

He crossed the room, cornering her until her back hit the wall. His furious glare drifted from her eyes to her lips. She turned her head so she wasn't looking at him; but his hands were planted on the wall, on either side of her. He lowered his head, tilting it to the side. "What did you say?"

Chin up and chest out, she stared at him defiantly. "I said," she hissed, her teeth gritting, "Fuck you, Nick."

He pressed himself into her, the warmth of his body radiating through the thin cotton of her shirt. The softness of her body contrasted the hard planes of his torso, and the solid bulge that pushed against her stomach. Amanda's lids fluttered, sensing the shifting tension in the room.

She lifted her mouth to his, the space between them as thin as paper. It was a waiting game to be kissed. Nick dipped his head, capturing her lips. And just like that they went from zero to sixty. Arching her back, she allowed for the kiss to deepen.

As he pressed hard, feeling the strain against his swim shorts, they grew more urgent. They were pouring liquid, molten anger into the kiss, letting the pent-up frustration direct their movements. He slipped his tongue in her mouth, his hand travelling from the wall to cup her neck. With his hand enclosing her throat, he lifted her head slightly to add another layer of control to the kiss.

Pulling away, he watched her face as she gasped for breath. Blindly, she searched for his mouth and when she couldn't quite reach him, she ground her hips into his. Nick groaned, his muscles straining. "I hate you."

"Fuck you, Nick."

The words had emboldened him, and he grew painfully hard in his shorts. He rasped a string of Spanish curses, as she licked her lips a juicy pink. Her hand drifted up to lay on top of the one he wrapped around her neck. She pushed a little harder, forcing him to tighten his grip. His eyes widened, not wanting to cause her any real pain.

Her voice came out in ragged breaths but he could make out every single sordid word. "You ever think of wrapping your hands around my neck while you're fucking me?"

"Shut up." His base instincts pushed him to tighten his hold and her mouth gaped and eyes bulged. He released her, his shallow breaths rivalling hers. He couldn't believe what he'd just done. He couldn't believe how dilated her eyes were, how her nipples strained against her t-shirt. Like a smoke bomb of lust and sex had been ignited, blending together fighting and fucking.

He took her by surprise, lips crashing as he kissed her fervently. His hands coursed down the sides of her body, cupping her ass to give him the leverage to press himself into her. He swallowed her moans as he squeezed. He palmed the back of her thigh, lifting one leg to wrap around him. In one swift motion, he hoisted her, forcing her back to arch against the wall. He practically humped her, thrusting against the tough fabric of her jeans.

She tore away from his lips to plant searing kisses up his jaw. His earlobe was sucked between her teeth. "Is this what you want, Nick?" she buzzed in his ear, "to fuck me until you forget that you hate me?"

He lifted her higher, his erection digging right at her sex. "You won't be able to stand when I'm through with you."

Fumbling with her clothes, he pulled her t-shirt over her head. She reached behind her to get rid of her bra, but he was too impatient. He pulled a cup down, lowering his head to take a nipple in his mouth. His tongue laved on the hardened peak, sucking it firmly before releasing it with a warm breath. She trembled.

With her head tilted back, she parted her lips and released a delicious moan.

Nick pulled his torso back so she could unsnap her bra. He pressed into her, luxuriating in the feel of her soft breasts pressed between their bodies. Her hands were on his shoulders as he lowered his head, his lips devouring the newly exposed skin.

Running her fingers through his hair, she whimpered as he kissed and sucked, having a sudden urge to mark her with hickeys all over her body. He released her, setting her back down on her shaky legs. She whined as she reached for him. But he had other ideas; getting down on his knees to kiss down her stomach, unbuttoning and unzipping her tight jeans. He couldn't wait to peel them off, pressing his mouth to the band of her lace-trimmed panties.

Her fingers weaved through his hair, pushing into his scalp to coax more of this frantic foreplay.

"You're going to miss this when it's all over," he said, eyes flitting up to meet hers. "Every night without me beside you, you're going to touch yourself here." He pulled the skimpy garment down her hips, following the trail with his lips. The scent of her arousal filled his nostrils, making his head spin.

"And here." He kissed her on her mound, and she gasped.

His lips wrapped around her clit, sucking harshly before a quick release. "And here."

Amanda yelped, her body lurching forward.

Nick smirked, rising from his knees to stand tall in front of her. He cupped her chin, planting a soft kiss on her lips. "You're going to pray for someone to fuck you the way I do."

Her stare hardened and her steadying grip on his shoulder dug into his muscles. "You're out of your fucking mind."

Laughing maliciously, he scooped her up effortlessly and turned around. She kissed him hard, panting when he lowered her down on the living room carpet. Six feet of him loomed over her, standing dangerously at her feet. He peeled off his swimming trunks, that had clung tightly to his erection. He groaned in relief as he sprung free.

Amanda licked her lips, her back extending as he lowered himself over her. He seized her knees, pushing them apart until she was wide open for him. She winced as she felt the pull in her groin, tightening her muscles.

Nick's hands positioned on either side of her head, forcing her to look at him. Eyes locked on each other, he impaled himself on her, more cruel than their usual limits. She was already wet for him, so he slid in without much resistance; but she was still a tight fit. Her mouth turned into a perfect 'O', her lips begging to be kissed. But he resisted, revelling in the image of his lover losing control to the carnal pleasure.

She bucked into him, meeting him thrust for thrust. Her response animated his competitive side and he dug deeper to drive harder. "Fuck you, Amanda."

"Yes! Mmmm… Don't stop!" She cried out, her hands moving from his shoulder blades to position over his hands. Their fingers intertwined, restraining each other against the rug "Fuck…"

He grunted as he sank down to the hilt, grinding himself into her until he felt her tiny spasms. The wet heat that encased his length slowly rippled, and he could sense that she was close. She lifted her head, finding his mouth to kiss him with unbridled passion. He got so lost in the kiss that he had forgotten to move, simply loving the feel of being buried inside her.

She bucked, her hold on him desperate as she mewled into the kiss. "Don't stop. Don't — God. Oh, god. OhGodOhGod!"

Energized by her words, Nick pulled himself back until she only had him by the head of his cock. He rammed into her, down to the root, picking up the momentum with every moan she uttered for him. And only him.

There was a knock on the door. They didn't answer.

"Come, baby." She increased the pressure in their interlocked hands. "I want you to — OhGod."

Driving into her sex in long, deep strokes, he lost himself bit by bit with the pressure building between his legs. Amanda rose her hips one last time, pushing hard against him before crashing down into a quivering heap. She cried out his name, drawing it out until it was caught in her throat. A strangled scream of his name permeating through the sound of slapping flesh.

The knocks pounded incessantly.

His thrusts outdid the beats on the door. The backs of his forearms burned from being pressed so hard on the Persian rug. His hands locked with hers. He stared deeply into her eyes, his mouth parting as he felt his own orgasm mount as she gripped him tightly in her hot, pulsing walls. Her blue eyes were a tight ring around pitch black pupils; her face flushing crimson. "I… I'm" his breath stopped short of his throat as he felt his body surrender, his hot cum surging inside her.

His heart pounded relentlessly as he fell on top of her, breathing heavy into her neck. She turned her head to face him and her mouth curled into a sly smile.

Kissing her lazily, they ignored the knocks that hadn't stopped.

"We should probably get that," Amanda whispered into the kiss. "They know we're here."

"We're busy."

She laughed breathily, pushing him on his chest. "Go."

"Fine." He huffed, getting up reluctantly before slipping on his shorts. Amanda reached for her t-shirt, pulling it over her head. It was long enough to cover her ass, and Nick was grateful that she chose to forego her jeans. He wasn't done with her. She quirked her brow playfully, settling on the couch and crossing her legs.

Nick's head was still spinning, his balance off-kilter as he opened the door to see Paula standing on the other side.

The ex-model looked annoyed before she eyed Nick's mussed up hair, looked past him and saw Amanda half-naked on the couch. She gave a small wave and Paula covered her face. "I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have — God, I'm so embarrassed."

"Can I help you with anything?" Nick hoped she would say no, and that she would go away.

Paula pressed her lips together in a tight line. "I have a flat. There's a spare tire in the back. I wouldn't be asking, but I called the local mechanic and they said they won't be here for another two hours. I thought I'd try you in case you knew how to change it."

"Uh… sure…" He thought it was odd. Glancing over at Amanda, she gave him an equally confused look. "Uh, yeah. Give me a minute," he told Paula. "Let me change and I'll meet you out on the driveway."

She nodded and smiled broadly. "Thank you! You are a lifesaver!"

Nick closed the door as soon as Paula scurried away. He had a bad feeling rising in his gut, and he knew he wasn't alone when Amanda got up to peer through the curtains. "What was that about?"

"Paula wanted me to change her tire."

"Yeah, I know that," she said, pulling back from the window. She shook her head. "This might sound crazy, but you ever get a bad vibe from those women?"

"Since the day we met them at the clubhouse," he disclosed, knowing it probably wasn't in his best interest to share his theories when she wasn't as forthcoming. Maybe it was because he was vulnerable around her. Maybe it was the sex. Maybe it was because he loved her more than he was willingly ready to admit. He sighed. "You don't think one of them could be —"

"—The Madame?" She finished his thought. "Absolutely."


	27. Password

**AN:** _Hey! Happy Holidays! Thought I'd share this quick update I wrote back in November, before exams and before all the craziness of pre-Christmas shopping and errands. I just read through it today and made a few, quick edits. Hopefully, I'll get started on the next chapter so it won't be another long wait in between. The pieces are starting to come together, which means the action is just around the corner... Read, enjoy, and review!_

* * *

 **Hush**

 **27\. Password**

* * *

The second the front door closed, Amanda exhaled. She darted for the window, pulling the curtain to see the outline of Nick recede as he neared the Huxley mansion. Biting down on her bottom lip, she waited until he had crossed the threshold of the embankment and disappeared from her line of sight.

Now that he was gone, she could finally get her hands on his notebook. She opened the desk drawer to find the leather-bound book, its yellowed pages held together by a piece of elastic. He had always permitted her to go through his notes since the beginning of the investigation — even when she hadn't been as forthcoming. But ever since the last Wolfsbane party, she noticed he was more secretive about these last few pages.

She took stock of the unoccupied cabin, making sure she was alone.

Flipping to the last third of the notebook, she found a list of names. The last on the list was First Deputy Commissioner Joseph Conroy, followed by another five names; and beside each name was a title. There were two men with high positions in the NYPD, an Assistant District Attorney, a Judge, and a prosecutor with early sights on the mayoral office.

Amanda didn't know about the list's significance, but, from this, she learned that Nick knew more than he let on. And whatever information he had, he wasn't sharing it with her.

The possibility of Nick covering for these men crossed her mind. These men had more to lose than their reputations, and she could see them using their power to persuade a young detective to sabotage an investigation implicating them in a sex trafficking ring. It was possible, but given the context that this was Nick she was talking about, it was unimaginable.

Nick wasn't in on it. There was no way. He wasn't covering for Conroy or any of those men on the list.

Still, Amanda thought Nick's proximity and loyalty to the NYPD was clouding his judgment. He wouldn't even consider the idea that the highest echelons of the department were protecting the trafficking ring; and yet he was aware that, at least, three of his bosses were somehow involved. She feared he trusted the department too much. She feared this whole thing was a set-up. That they would use Nick — one of their own — as collateral in order to bury this case for good.

A sudden wave of a fever hit her. She dropped the notebook back into the drawer and held herself up by the back of the chair. Her hair stuck to the back of her neck, sweat sliding down her temples. The top of her lip shined and her shirt clung to her skin. It was already a sweltering day. Multiply that by the fact that she had just taken part in angry, sweaty sex. Her body felt like it would burst into flames at any second. But it was the vertigo that struck first, and she fell hard.

* * *

"Thanks for all your help, Nick. I don't know what I'd do without a strong, handy man like yourself." The warm hand on his back lingered until he finally turned to face Paula. She smirked as she took a step closer. "If there's any way I can return the favour, let me know. I'm just a phone call away."

"Don't worry about it." Nick was eager to get back to Amanda and show her what he had found in the trunk of Paula's car. While he was retrieving the spare tyre under the mat, he noticed the enamel keychain, with the same 'W' logo as the Wolfsbane wax seal, wedged under a duffel bag. He quickly pocketed it.

"There must be a way I can show how thankful I am."

"It's really no problem."

She sighed and leaned in to kiss his cheek. Nick backed away, his hands up to stop her movements. She stared at him like she was offended he refused the affable, yet totally unnecessary, gesture.

"I —I'm sorry," he said. "My hands are covered in dirt. I wouldn't want to get your clothes dirty. Don't you have somewhere important to be?"

She plastered on a phony smile. "How thoughtful."

Once Paula got into her car and drove off, he hoofed it back to the cabin. The key was digging into his palm, its rough edges leaving an imprint on his skin. He pushed the door open and saw Amanda curled up in the couch. "Hey, I got something to show you."

She was startled by his sudden intrusion. She dropped a bag of frozen peas, before picking it up and setting it against the side of her head. "What's up?"

"You ok?"

"Yeah," she said, her brows furrowing as she noticed his closed fist. "What's in your hand?"

He was immediately at her side, a leg curled up under him, as he inspected the small bump on her head. "Was this because we —" he started. Her eye contact was shifty, and she scratched her neck with her free hand. In that instant, he knew she didn't want to give him a straight answer. "I hurt you. God, I'm so sorry. I didn't know what I was thinking."

"It's ok. I bumped my head while you were out helping Paula. It's not your fault."

"Are you sure?" he asked, placing his hand over the bag of frozen peas. "Let me see."

She allowed him to hold the bag and inspect her head, relief washing over him when he realized it wasn't as bad as he originally thought. He wanted to ask her how she bumped her head, but she had outraced him to the interrogation. "Nick, what's in your hand?"

He opened his fist to reveal the key.

"Is that —"

"A Wolfsbane keychain."

"The black keychain." She pointed out the oblong-shaped piece with a matte logo of a wave. "It's the country club's. Maybe it's for a locker." She stood and picked up her jeans off the floor. "We know Paula's a member, so it's no surprise she has a keychain. I think I'm just surprised that, for a secret society, they'd have a keychain in the first place."

"A locker?" he stroked his chin, remembering a piece of information he obtained at Leo's yacht party back in July. "3074-B."

"What?"

"3074-B," he repeated, going over to the desk to pull the drawer open. Amanda ceased her movements as he retrieved the notebook and flipped back several pages in his notes. She released her breath when he didn't indicate any knowledge of her going through his things. "I've been racking my brain trying to figure out what this combination means. This might be it."

"What are we waiting for?" She buttoned her jeans, then pulled her hair up into a messy bun. "Time to find out what's in that locker."

* * *

Less than five minutes after she disappeared into the women's locker room, Amanda returned and shoved the key into his hand. "No dice. You might've found the key in Paula's car, but I don't think it belongs to her. The locker numbers don't match. Try the men's."

So Nick did as he was told and entered the men's locker room. Calcutta marble floors and a relaxing stone waterfall greeted him upon entering. He nodded at the man behind the counter and took the offered warm towel. Down the long hallway, he passed the showers, a few steam rooms, and a jacuzzi that was occupied by four older men. As he walked past the them, he avoided eye contact, bowing his head.

Checking the first two digits of the locker, he navigated the halls until he found the unoccupied enclave of lockers. There was a long bench in the middle, a bin for dirty towels, and a full-length mirror covering an entire wall. He located the one that matched the number in the keychain. There was a brass padlock secured to the door. The anxiety kicked in as he held the lock in his hands, slotting the key. It fit perfectly.

Once the lock was unhinged, he looked over his shoulder. No one was there, but he could hear the voices from down the hall and the sound of body spray hissing out of cans. The locker inside appeared empty. Two narrow shelves were cleared out, not a speck of dust visible to the naked eye.

Nick crouched to inspect under each shelf but found nothing. At the base of the locker, he noticed a finger-sized hole at the top left corner. He lifted it by the edge, but felt some resistance. With another hard tug, the metal sheet came off and he discovered a tablet.

The clang of metal doors startled him, his shoulders rising to his ears. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end. Turning around, there was no one there. The sound had come from down the hall.

The tablet was plugged into the base, an alarm around the cord, preventing it from being detached. Picking it up carefully, he pressed the home button to see the screen requiring an eight-digit password. He unfolded the slip of paper in his pocket and read the combination he had retrieved from Owen Walker — 3074-B 646-7595. The label above him read 3074. There was no B.

He took a chance and typed in 26467565. Incorrect password, it read. "Shit," he muttered under his breath as he realized he had typed it incorrectly. He tried again — 26367595. The lock screen disappeared, allowing him full access to the tablet. Remembering the code was the ace up his sleeve, allowing him to sink that eight ball into the pocket.

Opening his gym bag, he took out his laptop and a cable. Between Nick and Amanda, he was less tech literate, but he had transferred files onto a computer before. How hard could this be?

Luck must have been on his side, because he pressed just the right keys and within seconds, he had the file transfer program working. The blue bar was inching forward, giving him an estimated time of 56 seconds before he had the files in the tablet backed up to his computer.

Sweat formed in his brow as he heard the sound of flip-flops tapping on the floor. The hum of an old Carpenters song resounded as the person neared. 13 seconds left and he pulled the cord, stuffing the tablet back inside the locker. He set the metal sheet on top and closed the locker door, securing the padlock before stuffing the laptop into his duffel bag.

"Nicolas."

Philip stood at the end of the bench, his towel slung over his shoulder. His face was red and his hair dampened with sweat.

"Fancy running into you here at the club," he said, walking toward the locker adjacent to the one he had just shut. "Im not here often, but once in a while I like to play some racquetball. What are you doing here?"

"I thought I'd hit the gym."

"Gym at the house not cutting it for you?"

"No, uh, your gym is great. I just kind of missed the busier environment… It's, uh, a lot more motivating."

"You don't need to explain." He smiled reassuringly. "By the way, is Amanda here with you?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Is she feeling any better? Grace left a voicemail saying to check up on her as soon as I get home. Something about her being too sick to join you earlier for brunch."

"It's nothing to worry about. She's fine now."

Philip scratched his temple, his mouth curving into a frown. "Has she talked to you recently?"

"What do you mean? We talk all the time."

"Of course." He shook his head and smiled. "Forget I asked the question."

Nick furrowed his brows. He wanted to know what Philip meant by it, but he had to get back to Amanda and back to the cabin so they could uncover what was in the tablet.

"You would tell me if your wife was feeling sick again?"

"Of course. It's always good to have a doctor in the house."

Philip opened his mouth to say something, but stopped himself short of saying it. His fingers traced his lips and he sighed. "I… Well, Grace and I… We care about Amanda as if she were our own daughter."

* * *

Amanda sat under a parasol, her elbows on the table and her chin resting on her hand. She stared off into space, her mind cycling through her next options. The list in Nick's notebook was at the forefront. Her trust in him moving backwards and forwards was mentally exhausting. She still wasn't convinced that he could be working with Conroy and the other identified names from the department. But it was odd that he hadn't mentioned it to her. What was he hiding?

In the back of her mind, something else was chipping away. She was reminded of those unopened boxes of pregnancy tests. Scared that Nick would find them, she threw them away when she stopped at a gas station to refuel. It was a waste of money, but it was worth it if it meant she could keep pretending that her life wasn't going to change drastically. If she could just pretend for a little while longer, then she promised herself she would face the consequences, whatever that plastic strip might reveal.

Waiting for Nick's return from the men's locker room, she witnessed a man drag a woman by the elbow. It flashed before her eyes so quick that she couldn't make out their faces.

Following in their direction, she hunted the couple down, walking along the exterior of the locker room until she heard the hushed tones of their voices.

"Tell her to leave me alone then," said the woman.

"I'll take care of Vi."

Amanda surveyed the scene. The two were having a whispered conversation behind giant planters, away from prying eyes. The man had her back to her, his hair a stark white against his tanned skin.

"Owen, this isn't working out. I know you want to be part of your daughter's life, but I can't deal with the constant threats from your wife."

"Joanie needs a father."

"Some father you are," she hissed. Amanda observed the woman, noting her deep complexion and tight rings of caramel curls. It was Jessica Collins — the former housekeeper of the Walkers, who also happened to be Jinx from the sex club. "You won't even pay her medical bills."

"You know my hands are tied. All the money belongs to Vi and her family. If she knows I'm still seeing you, I lose everything."

"If you leave her, you'll have me and Joanie."

Owen rubbed his hands over his face. "We'd have nothing."

"We could start over somewhere new. Get away from this place." Jessica closed the gap between them, her hands cupping his cheeks. There was an affection there that ran deeper than just some physical affair. "I don't want my baby's hospital bills covered with dirty money from that sick place. I should have never agreed to it… I don't care if it means I have to go into debt or go into hiding. I can't do this anymore."

"Jess, you can't leave."

"I'm leaving," she stated firmly. "With or without you."

He held her wrists in place, his head lowered and his mouth an inch from hers. "You can't take my daughter away from me."

"You have no say in this."

"You can't leave. What about Joanie's treatments?"

"I'll figure it out."

"You have nothing figured out. You have no savings… She'll be looking for you, you know?" Owen was flushed. The throbbing veins in his neck were visible, even from where Amanda stood.

Jessica pulled away from him. "I need to go."

"I can't let you take her away from me."

"It's not worth having you around in Joanie's life when you come to visit in secret. She doesn't even know who you really are… Owen, she's young enough that she won't remember." Jessica's arms wrapped around herself, her shoulders hunched in defeat. "Look, you don't have to come. I figured you would never entertain the idea of leaving anyway. You would have to give up your life here… And as much as you tell me you hate Violet, I can't imagine you'd be ready to give up all the other women."

"Please, Jess," he begged. "I can change."

"I'm sorry. I can't do this anymore."

* * *

The urgency registered the moment Nick and Amanda were reunited. In the car, they updated each other on their findings — the discovery of the tablet and the eavesdropped argument between Owen and Jessica.

Upon entering the cabin, Nick opened the laptop to find 92 percent of the files had successfully transferred. Amanda took the chair while he stood behind her, his body bent so he was looking over her shoulder.

There was a single application among the documents with unknown file directories. Double-clicking it, the program opened up to something akin to a booking service. There were drop-down menus of numbers, and a date and time selector.

"Those are social security numbers." He pointed out when she scrolled through the first drop-down menu. "Most of them share the same area number. This could be the club's list of clients."

She continued to scroll through the list, stopping at a familiar combination of numbers. "I just searched for the social security number supplied with my fake identity. And here it is."

"Holy —" He placed a hand over his mouth and exhaled. "This is the break in the case we've been waiting for. The DA's office is going to have a field day with this list."

The second set of numbers were longer, not immediately making sense like the social security numbers.

He counted. "13 digits —"

"It's a barcode," she said, swallowing hard. "They branded the girls."

Disgust painted his face as the purpose of the application became crystal clear. It was a program that allowed clients, with access, to log in and schedule _appointments_ with the list of available girls.

Amanda minimized the window, returning to the folders to search for the files that corresponded to the barcodes. One by one, she opened them up to view the profile pages of women they had recognized at the parties. When she opened one file, Nick immediately flinched and turned away. He paced across the room, his hand combing through his hair. On the screen was a picture of a girl that couldn't have been older than 13. She was standing against the wall in nothing but her underwear, her innocent eyes sunken in and her bare feet turned inward. The girl had the look of terror on her face.

Amanda's insides revolted. Bile rising to her throat and anger running through her veins as she opened one file after the other, each revealing another woman, another girl. Her stomach turned and her hands shook, but she kept clicking, in the back of her mind knowing that she was waiting for one familiar face. And there it was. "Kim." She wrung her wrists until they were red and her skin felt raw.

"We're sending all of this back to the squad." Nick's hands were on her shoulders, squeezing them gently for comfort.

"What?" She looked over her shoulder, peering up at the intensity in his eyes. "We can't be hasty —"

"We have a complete list. We have proof of all the clients who had access to these girls."

"But no solid proof on the Madame. She's the one we're after."

He narrowed his eyes. "You told me you had a strong feeling about Violet Walker after overhearing that fight at the country club. We can follow that lead."

"Based on my hunch?" Amanda asked rhetorically. "We don't want to scare her off and have her closing shop just as we're onto her."

"It's not just a hunch. I don't know why you keep sitting on all this evidence. We have the resources in the precinct that can pick apart every piece of data in that tablet."

"I don't trust the people you work for."

Nick grunted, clenching his jaw. "Don't be ridiculous. This isn't a conspiracy." He was furious as he paced back and forth, gripping the back of his neck.

"I don't know who to trust."

His eyes pierced hers, and she saw the hurt and the anger mar his face. She realized she was wrong to say it, because it wasn't true.

"Except you," she said, moving to stand in front of him. "I trust you."

He sighed, his hand cupping her cheek. "I know you do, so please trust me when I tell you that the squad is in this with us. Now, I don't know about Conroy and I don't know about my captain's bosses up in 1-PP, but I'm not letting any of them throw this case like they did in Atlanta. We're going to get those girls out. You and I."

Eyes locked and hand over his, she repeated his words. "You and I."


	28. Vanish

**_AN:_** _No excuses, just apologies. I know I've been gone for two months. To anyone who might still be reading, I'm sorry. But I do appreciate that you're still on this journey with me. Thanks for sticking around and I hope you enjoy this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it over the last couple of days._

* * *

 **Hush**

 **27\. Vanish**

* * *

"Nick."

He dreamt of his bed in the Bronx. He dreamt of rolling to the other side, wrapping his arms around her warm, soft body. Every night, it was the same dream. And every morning, it was the same disappointment that playing pretend was almost over.

"Wake up, Nick."

Shaken out of his sleep, he groaned as he buried his face into the pillow, smelling of flowery hair and sea salt. The darkness behind his eyes was a cherished comfort. Until it was interrupted when she pulled him by the shoulder, her eyes too bright and eager for half past four. She waved a phone in his face. "I've been tracking Finch's movements. I hooked it up to his car and I've synced it to my phone. He's not up and moving this early unless he's leaving town."

All the secret trips came surging right back.

"So that's where you've been?"

"We don't have much time." She didn't answer his question, and she didn't give him much time to answer hers. "Are you coming with me?"

She took the wheel, following the point in the map, which indicated the Sheriff was a dwindling six miles ahead of them. Nick sat shotgun, eyes on the road as they tore through the Southern State Parkway. The sky was black and the pavement lit with the headlights of early commuters. On his hip sat his leather holster, securing a 9mm service pistol. There was nothing to suggest that he and Amanda might need their weapons, but, nonetheless, a pool of anxiety settled in his gut.

"He's heading to Brooklyn," he pointed out. "You ever follow him this far into the city?"

"No. He usually drives up north toward Huntington."

"You ever find anything?"

"No," she replied tersely. Pursing her lips, she whistled out a breath. "Finch knows where the girls are being kept. If he's not leading us to them, then he's leading us somewhere he doesn't want anyone to find out about."

"I get that."

"You don't think it's ridiculous we're tailing this guy?"

He smiled, reaching across the centre console to squeeze her hand. "If I had figured it out sooner, I would've done the same."

By the time they got off the highway, they were within a few blocks of Finch's SUV. The early morning streets were lined with a few delivery trucks, sidewalks with a handful of pedestrians returning home from a night shift. In the distance, a blue and red siren was going off.

The point on the map stopped at an adjacent street. Amanda turned the corned to park on the side of the road. She cast a quick glance at her partner, before she stepped out of the car.

In spite of the dawn air, the pavement was hot beneath the soles of her boots. She led the way, eyes darting from the map on her phone to the empty street ahead of her. He kept a lookout, his fingertips tingling with the urge to feel the aluminum and rubber grip of his handgun.

They reached the street corner — a closed bank. Across the street, the lit sign of the bodega cast looming shadows in the brick wall behind them. Amanda stopped abruptly. She peered over the edge of the wall.

Finch was standing on the other side, leaning against his car as he appeared to be waiting for someone. He felt her breath on his neck, and he turned in time to catch her eyes.

In his periphery, he spotted a shadowed figure turn the corner and head towards Finch. The man was tall and slender with a coiffed head of silver hair.

Amanda gasped.

"Who is it?" he asked, eyes going back to study the stranger. "You know him?"

"That's —" She swallowed hard, back flush against the wall. She blinked a few times like she was in a daze. "Chief Patton…. He's my boss down in Atlanta."

Nick searched her face for more answers. She was staring right past him, her palms braced on her knees, and her shoulders slumped defeatedly. While he was trying to wrap his head around the breadth of corruption that had infested police departments across state lines, he was more worried about the woman in front of him. He reached for her, pulling her up by her arms so she was leaning into him. "What do I need to know about this guy?"

"He's bad…. He's a bad —" She shook her head, words getting caught in her throat. "He hurt Kim."

He knew she wasn't going to say more than that in that moment, but that was enough. Reaching for his gun, he felt the aluminum alloy brush his skin. Then her hand was on him, stopping his next movement.

"We don't have 'em yet."

"We can't let them get away."

Finch and Patton spoke in hushed voices, eyes scanning the empty street out of legitimate paranoia. They were being watched after all.

The Sheriff reached into his jacket to pull out a thick envelope, passing it onto the other man. They exchanged a handshake and a smile — a smile between two old friends — before they parted ways.

"I'm following Patton."

"What about Finch?" Nick asked alarmed. She was already shifting on her feet, ready to run around the other corner to make sure she wouldn't lose him.

"Stay with Finch. We need to split up."

"We can't separate."

"We're so close." Her eyes were unblinking, a stare so intense and focused it could persuade him to leap off the edge of a building. "We're doing this today. We're taking these monsters down _today_."

"Amanda."

"Promise me you'll be safe." She ignored his protest. This was a terrible idea. Grabbing his face, she planted a searing kiss on his mouth that lasted a brief second before she pulled away. "I love you."

Immediately, her face fell. She was mortified. While she took a few steps backward, he stared at her in disbelief as if he had only imagined her saying those three words. His mouth hung open, a response tied down to his throat. Cowardice blooming in his gut.

And before he could tell her how he felt — how he loved her, too — she was gone.

* * *

Amanda had disappeared before he could process what she said, and before he could come to the realization that he had to follow Finch with no means of doing so. The car keys were with his partner. Things had moved too quickly to deliberate on who was getting what.

An empty cab rolled up on the street, waiting for the light. Nick ran up to the driver's side and flashed his badge. "Step out of the vehicle."

"I ain't do nuthin'"

"Out," Nick repeated, pulling on the door as he watched the black SUV get farther down the street.

The cab driver had no choice, stepping out of the car with his hands up. "Seriously, man, you guys have it out for me." By the time he turned around, Nick had stepped onto the gas.

He must have pressed a wrong button because the meter started clicking. Six dollars rose every half minute. The plastic vinyl of the seat stuck to his skin. A ceramic bowl on the dashboard burned some incense that smelled of patchouli and sage. And while he didn't often hit the brakes, there was a concerning noise of rusted metal scraping right below his seat.

Ahead of him, Finch's SUV was in plain sight. He ignored the honks as he maneuvered in and out of the traffic, running through amber lights just so he wouldn't lose him. Amanda was right. They were heading back toward Huntington, leaving Brooklyn behind. He wondered how she was doing, if she was safe, and what exactly she had meant when she said Patton hurt Kim.

The meter was up at $76.50 by the time Finch took a left turn from a main road. It was a suburban street — quiet and idyllic. Front lawns still had remnants of the waning summer, American flags waving in the gentle breeze and garden hoses knotted over a plastic tarp. He couldn't picture the sex society's girls being next-door neighbours with a bunch of kids playing on a makeshift slip and slide. But he knew better than to rule out anything unordinary.

Finch pulled up to a colonial home at the end of a cul-de-sac. From the outside, it looked just like any other house on the street — a newly renovated four-bedroom home for Bob and Pam, their two kids, and maybe a pup they rescued at the local animal shelter. But Nick had a sinking feeling in his gut. The windows were obscured with blackout curtains. All the porch lights were turned off, making it seem like it was one of the few remaining foreclosed homes. Beside Finch's parked car, there was a 1994 Corolla that looked like it belonged in a junk yard.

With his finger hovering over the trigger, Nick crept along the side of the house. There was no way of seeing what was inside, but he noted a faint glow of light coming from an upstairs bedroom. The backyard was empty apart from an unused fire pit and an overgrown Oak with branches that skimmed the roof. It had been decades since he last climbed a tree, but the adrenaline had him up ten feet off the ground in no time. From his vantage point, he could better see the bedroom. Its curtains didn't reveal much, but he could make out the silhouette of a woman sitting at the foot of the bed.

As he neared the roof, the branch snapped. He winced, preparing himself for the hard fall, but he remained in place. Looking back at where the branch met the trunk, he saw what looked more like a greenstick fracture. He wasn't going to make it back the way he came, which meant there was only one way to get out of there — by going inside.

He crouched by the window, pressing his ear against the wall to try to make something of the muffled sounds. Although he had only seen a woman in the room, the sound was distinctly male. The voice was commanding in its gruff baritone. "Take 'em off."

The sound of creaky, old box springs passed through the wall.

"Hurry up. I don't have all day," he said. "Boss should be arriving soon —"

The bed creaked again.

"Derek!" Finch's discernible voice yelled from downstairs. "Derek, where the fuck are you?"

"Shit!" hissed Derek, as he shuffled to pull his jeans over his thighs. "We're not done here. You still owe me."

"I don't owe you shit," the woman said, and the wheels clicked in Nick's head. He knew that accent; he felt that cloying Southern lilt whisper in his ear.

Once he heard the door slam, he made quick work of prying the window open and falling ass first into the room. Kim spun around, mouth open ready to scream. He got to his feet. He placed his hand over her mouth and an arm around her torso to keep her from getting away. "Shhh… I'm here to help."

Kim's eyes widened as she realized it was him and she put up less of a struggle, except when she bit into his palm so he'd let her go. "You a cop?"

"Yeah. I'm working with your sister."

"Where is she?"

He debated whether or not it was a good idea to tell her about Patton, deciding in the last second that he couldn't trust her enough with that information. "She's on the lookout," he lied. "Are the other girls here?"

Kim nodded.

"How many are there?"

"22," she answered matter-of-factly. Nick felt the wind knocked right out of him. "They just got six new girls in last night."

"Where are they?"

"Room down the hall. Some are sleepin' but some are down in the basement with the new girls…. Trainin' starts early."

He felt sick to his stomach. "That guy that was just here —"

"Derek?" she asked. "He won't be up anytime soon. He and Ben are gonna be pretty busy breakin' 'em in if you know what I mean."

"It's just the two of them down there?"

She shrugged. "Derek's the only one keepin' an eye on us if that's what you're askin'. He works nights, when he's not workin' on his boat. But as far as Ben bringin' friends over, that depends."

Nick pulled out his phone and scrolled through his contacts. He almost got her voice mail before the rings stopped and he heard the quiet hum of the air conditioner. Half-asleep and groggy, Olivia Benson answered the phone. "This better be good, Amaro."

"I need back-up at 243 Palm Street in Huntington," he said, voice clear and firm. "Liv, we found the girls."

Once Olivia assured him that she and the team were on their way, he asked Kim to stay put upstairs. She tried to protest, telling him he wasn't safe to go to the basement. But if Nick could stop what was going on downstairs, even if it meant putting himself in danger, he would. All he needed was his weapon as he slowly turned the doorknob leading to the unfinished basement. As he made his way down the steps, the wood beneath him creaked. He was only halfway down when Derek turned the corner, shocked to see the unwelcome visitor.

"NYPD! Put your hands up!" Nick aimed his gun at Derek. In a flash of a second, Derek reached for the back of his jeans and pulled out a similar 9mm glock pistol. Two gunshots and a few high-pitched screams later, the gun slid against the concrete and the hard thud of a man hitting the ground reverberated in his ears. His finger released the trigger and his lungs released a heavy breath.

Nick ran down the rest of the steps and picked up Derek's gun, making sure it was secure. He knew Finch was still down there. Quickly, he crouched beside Derek and felt for a pulse. The man was dead. He didn't need to feel for his carotid artery; all he had to do was look at the two bullet-sized holes in the centre of his chest and he could make an educated guess. But it was better to be safe.

The slam of a screen door filled the hollow basement. He looked up in time to see Finch running up the steps from the storm door. Chasing after him, Nick attempted to pass through the same route, but Finch had closed off the iron gate leading outside. He ran up the basement stairs and through the front door, only making it in time to see the tail lights of the SUV disappearing into the rising fog of daybreak.

* * *

The sky was a hazy peach.

Amanda was driving through the streets of New Jersey, past the George Washington Bridge and along the Hudson She kept her head low, her blonde hair obscured by the Yankees ball cap Nick left in the glovebox.

Patton's nondescript black sedan turned down an alley, just wide enough to fit a single delivery truck at most. She pulled over.

The alley between the two brick buildings led to a chain link fence. Patton stalled at the gate for a few seconds before it automatically opened. The car drove past the gates, into an open, concrete space. Two unmarked vans were parked in front of the building's entrance.

She reversed her steps a bit. The street entrance of the building was boarded up, a heavy chain and a tangle of padlocks around the door handles. Barred windows were rusted, with baseball-sized holes of broken glass.

Looking at the neighbouring building, she noticed an advertisement for available industrial lofts. This was a good sign. That meant it was accessible.

There were no problems getting into the lofts. A commercial aluminum storefront had never given her much grief before. Not when she was a rookie working her beat. And definitely not when she was a rebellious kid, trying to prove herself. She pulled the bobby pin holding her bangs and surveyed the deadbolt at the base of the door. With the pin at 90 degrees to the lock opening, she felt the latch and tugged. The locking mechanism released.

The problem came when she tried to access the rooftop. A door at the fire route led to another set of stairs to the roof, but the door wasn't budging. It wasn't locked, and it had a little give. But something was wedged in the bars. She tried again, launching herself, shoulder first into the door.

Something cracked and she hissed at the sharp pain that throbbed on her shoulder. The green paint had chipped off where her body had collided with the door. A y-shaped fissure appeared on the wood. She gritted her teeth and braced herself for the impact. Aiming at the point of weakness, she hurled her entire weight forward.

Light flooded into the stairwell. Through the hole, she saw the peach sky swirling with blue daylight.

She reached through the hole and felt for the crowbar wedged into the door handle. Slipping it out of position, she heard metal clunk onto concrete. Pushing the door again, it finally opened.

Beads of sweat dotted her forehead, tendrils of hair sticking to her skin. She pulled the ball cap off her head, wiping the sweat with her forearm. Her face was flushed with heat. The adrenaline was rushing through her body, so much that she could barely feel the pain in her shoulder.

As soon as she stepped onto the rooftop, the the rays of the sun blinded her. She squinted as she set the cap back on her head. She then set her sights on the adjacent building. The space between was far too great. She'd have to be Spiderman to make the leap between buildings, but from her vantage point, she could get a picture of who was leaving and entering. The larger windows also allowed her a better look inside, although it was too dark and dusty to make any sense of the amorphous shadows.

Amanda crept to the ledge, peering down below to see a third unmarked van where Patton's car was parked. He was gone.

She pulled out her phone and hit her recent contacts. Nick's name appeared at the top of the list. Her finger tapped on the screen. Then her grip tightened.

She felt it first at the back of her skull. The cold metal muzzle of a gun. Why didn't she hear the footsteps on the concrete? Why didn't she notice the shadow casted by his figure.

"Drop the phone." It was a man's voice.

She set it down beside her, turning her head slightly to catch a glimpse of the man with the gun to her head.

The muzzle dug into her skull and she instinctively closed her eyes. "I didn't tell you to look back." His boot — size eleven — smashed her phone into pieces. Before it turned black, the bottom red bar showed 'End'.

Nick had picked up.

Nick would know she was in trouble.


	29. Identity

_**AN** : It was not nice to have been gone for so long, and for that I'm sorry. The disappearance mostly had to do with me trying my best to pass my program. It's been rough winter and summer semesters, that's all I'll say. I got a little break these last few weeks and thought I'd (finally) finish this chapter I had started in February. If you're reading this, thank you._

* * *

"Hands behind your head."

Amanda felt the give of the gun, but could still sense its barrel hovering close to her skull. Doing as she was told, she crossed her hands behind her head. She shifted off her knees, the soles of her boots flattening on the concrete.

"Get up!" He ordered. She still didn't know who he was, but she was certain by his voice it wasn't Patton. "Now, turn around. Slowly," he directed. "Don't make any sudden movements or I'll blow your head off."

She took two deliberate steps to face him. Her brows lifted slightly as she acknowledged her captor, but she tried to quell her surprise. "Carter."

"Did I say you could talk?" He yelled, his free arm looping around hers to lock her wrists against her lower back. His grip tightened, enough that she could feel her fingers cry for blood. "Don't make this harder for yourself."

There was always something foreboding about Carter Baines. She remembered the night outside the fire station, where he invited her to join him for a drink. There was also that time on the boardwalk; and Nick had even been there to make it perfectly clear that they were married. He left her alone after the last incident, but something told her he hadn't forgotten the feeling of rejection.

Carter led her down the stairs, from the rooftop into the dark, narrow hallway of the stairwell. He shoved her against the wall, locking her at the neck with his thick forearm. His eyes bore into hers as she felt the muzzle of the gun dig into her temple. "You make one sound and it's lights out."

Amanda bit the tip of her tongue and tasted metallic iron and restraint. She wanted to fight back. She wanted to collect the phlegm sitting at the base of her throat, hack up a thick one, and launch it in his face. But Carter had the upper hand, especially after he had made her surrender her weapon — everything but a switchblade tucked faraway and useless in her left boot.

Taking advantage of his position of power, Carter's head dipped to the curve of her neck. His hand was less than an inch away from her breast when she jerked away. "Get off me!"

The back of his hand swung across her face. The gaudy ring on his finger, slashing a cut right down her lip.

"You're gonna pay for that."

She already did, she thought as she winced in pain.

He led the rest of the way down and across the small parking lot toward the adjacent building. Two men with a similar stocky build and cropped hair met them at the entrance. "Why doesn't this surprise me?" said one of them. "This bitch put up a fight a coupl'a weeks ago."

Memories of the art gallery resurfaced. She remembered surveying the empty gallery one second and then the next, someone grabbing her from behind and pulling a bag over her head. Before the darkness consumed her, she let out a blood-curdling scream; but even through the noise she remembered that gruff voice. "Fuckin' bitch."

She met the eyes of the man that captured her last July. His hideousness was only outdone by the stench of his breath on her face. "Take 'er inside. I told the boss we gon' keep an eye on 'er." He sneered, trailing his finger along the delicate curve of her jaw. "A real close eye."

The interior of the building was more chilling than its exterior. It was an abandoned warehouse; the stone walls were marked with decades of grime and layers of graffiti. Filthy boxes and crates scattered across the floor, rusted chains were fixed to walls and beams ran across the high ceilings. The sound of their footsteps echoed, and so did the tinny squeaks of rodents. Narrow bars of flickering fluorescent light illuminated the path toward a large metal garage door. Carter jammed his fist onto a red button on the wall and the clink and click of gears resonated in the cavernous space. The metal doors revealed a shadowy room with steel bars and wires running across the ceiling. Rusted metal hooks hung from the wires at varying levels, some low enough that she could already imagine what Carter had planned next.

"Take off your clothes."

Amanda's head whirled around to face him, her eyes wide in horror. She figured he was going to restrain her, but the idea of his disgusting hands on her body was an ambush. "Look, I'm not gonna fight, but please don't make me do that."

"I got to make sure you got nothin' on you."

She swallowed hard and lowered her head. "There's a knife tucked in my left boot. That's all I had. That and my gun."

He shook his head and feigned disappointment. "I told you not to make it any harder for yourself," he said as his grip loosened. His hands made their way to her waist, stubby fingers inching below the hem of her t-shirt.

Amanda took her shot. She kneed him in the groin and threw a solid punch to his gut just as he doubled over. He released hold of his own gun, and she watched as it slid several feet across the ground. She lunged at him, reaching for her gun, which he had tucked in his jeans, but his hands were quick as he wrestled her wrists away from his hips. "This ain't gonna end well for ya," he gritted through his teeth.

Amanda scrambled to get him off and she escaped, crawling toward Carter's gun. Her fingers grazed the grip, but he pulled her by the ankle and her chin grazed the rough concrete. Wincing through the burn on her skin, she pulled her foot up for some leverage and jammed it right on his head. But his hold was tight. Much stronger, Carter pulled her across the floor, her arms scraping across the uneven ground, as he got to his knees. He wrapped his arm around her neck, choking her as he stood on his feet, lifting her off the ground. She gasped for air. She tried to use her elbows to strike him but none of her hits were landing. He lifted her higher, and as her legs swung in the air, she threw her head back. The sound of her skull breaking his nose was sickening. Immediately, Carter let go to hold onto his bloody nose. She took the open window to tumble forward toward the gun, picking it up, and spinning around to aim it at Carter. But he wasn't behind her.

He charged for her just before she could defend herself, and her right shoulder collided against the garage door. It was the same shoulder she used to ram the door to the rooftop; it couldn't take any more abuse as her arm hung loosely, as if dislocated from the rest of her body. She whined in pain, gritting her teeth as she swung the gun to her non-dominant hand and aimed it at Carter. Despite his bulky stature, the man was agile as he lurched forward, spearing her in the abdomen and knocking more than the wind out of her. A white flash blinded her. The back of her head hit the pavement and she swore she heard her bones crack from the impact, but broken bones and scrapes in her skin felt like nothing. It felt like nothing when everything inside her felt like it had collapsed and exploded into a volcanic hemorrhage.

* * *

The constant trickle of water on the concrete was the sound that woke her up. Her lids fluttered open to a cloud of white spots. As her pupils adjusted and she blinked the fog from her eyes, she observed the dark and dingy space. Everything was in shades of grey apart from the orange, rusty nails sticking out of blocks of cement. Carefully, she lifted her neck to see a high, exposed ceiling with iron beams running along the length of the room.

A bead of sweat coursed from her forehead down to the bridge of her nose, falling to her cut lip. The salt stung against the open wound, momentarily distracting her from the other cuts and bruises marring her body. She hissed but the noise was caught in her parched throat, just in time to hear the deep rumble of her empty stomach.

The summer air was hot and thick. She was sweating from the heat and lack of ventilation but, just beneath her skin, she felt cold. Her body shivered, which only made the pain in her muscles cry with more intensity. Her head was pounding and it was becoming more and more difficult for her to keep her eyes open.

All she wanted to do was lie down and sleep but she couldn't move in her position. The only reason she was upright was because her hands were over her head, her wrists bound tightly by rope that was chafing and burning her skin. The more she struggled, the more it ate away at the top layers; so she decided to stay still.

Her body quivered again as she felt the chill rush up her spine and strike severely at the nape of her neck. Her head fell forward and her eyes blinked open in shock as she stared down at her naked body. She was filthy with dirt, grime, and dried blood. She stared farther down below her waist to see fresh blood dripping down her legs. A whimper escaped her throat and she sobbed, even if it physically pained her.

"Stop crying!"

The voice rattled her and she immediately ceased. Slowly, she lifted her head and saw two figures emerge from the shadows. They were both tall men with broad shoulders and cropped hair. As they moved toward her, the little light that seeped through the cracks in the walls revealed their features. They were familiar. The planes on their face and the set of their eyes – she had seen them before. And one pair of eyes, staring at her like a predator, made her instinctively clench her legs together. The predator's mouth curled up into a wicked smile as he neared her. She turned her head away but he grabbed her by the chin and forced her to look at him.

"We meet again, Amanda Rollins."

Charlie Patton's sick smile spread across his face. With their proximity, the skin on his face appeared leathery and a grey ring of age surrounded his pale eyes. She realized that, although this wasn't the first time he had seen her naked and vulnerable, this was the first time she was seeing the man up close. Back then, in that dingy motel room off the highway, she sealed her eyes in an effort to remove herself from her body.

He stared at her, then he did something she didn't expect. He clenched his jaw and released her. "I can't do it while she's like this." Charlie took a few paces in the opposite direction and threw his arms up. "What the fuck did your guy do to her?"

"Baines?" asked Ben Finch. "He's a dumb kid, but he swore up and down he only did it to defend himself."

Amanda closed her eyes tight as she tried to remember what happened after getting caught in the rooftop. Everything that happened after appeared in her memory as a flurry of collisions. She tried to listen to what her body was telling her. Was she sore between her legs? It was hard to tell, but she knew her body was crying due to the pain she felt deep in her belly. She swallowed to contain a sob but it came out a strangled breath, and both men turned to look at her. Her boss looked away, but Ben's eyes lingered.

"Look at her," Charlie hissed. "He didn't need to —"

"C'mon, man. I thought you got yourself a piece of that ass."

"It wasn't anything like this, ok? She agreed to it."

Amanda shook her head as it hung low from exhaustion. She had never agreed to it. Yes, she said she was willing to do whatever it took to save her sister's skin. She got a bad feeling when Chief Patton told her he needed her to plant evidence in a motel just outside Atlanta. She justified it as a worthy cause when she learned it was an effort to take down one of the most notorious sex traffickers in the region. She agreed to do something illegal to get her sister out of a possible 20-year prison sentence; she never agreed to what her boss really had in mind. She never consented.

* * *

Amanda woke to the distant trickle of water. The sound was faint, but her skin felt cool and damp. Her eyes adjusted to her surroundings, which seemed both strange and familiar. Her instinct told her she needed to run, but her body was restrained. Her arms tied up and wrists coiled tightly with rope. She tugged a little and knew the rope was taut; she was stuck standing for god knows how long. The wetness stroked her cheek, across her forehead, sweeping back the hair that had stuck to her face.

"You're awake."

The sick feeling returned to her gut at full force. Amanda saw a flicker of those icy blues before she dropped her head, refusing to look at Chief Patton. The man had the gall to play some sort of compassionate captor. She wanted none of it.

"I couldn't stand to see you so…" he paused, contemplating his next words as if they could somehow elicit a semblance of mercy. "Broken."

Amanda winced, despite feeling the truth behind the word in nearly every part of her body.

Using the washcloth, Charlie wiped down her temple toward her jaw. "What Carter did to you — that was never part of the plan."

Her memory of how she got in her position was foggy. She had a vague image of wrestling Carter to the ground and reaching for his gun, but she blanked when it came to any event after that. She wanted to ask what exactly Carter did to her, but she was too afraid to find out. She figured he had beaten her up silly. After all, she did put up a hell of a fight and it probably hurt his pride to get his ass handed to him by a woman. But if he had taken advantage of her while she was knocked out cold, then she knew she would've asked — no, begged — for death.

He wrung the washcloth before he placed it against her pulse. "I'm sorry for what he did, but you shouldn't have gotten involved in this mess, Rollins."

"No," she hissed, the word sounding gravelly as it passed her throat. "You shouldn't have."

"I know what I'm doing," he said defensively. "If I had known you were looking into the sex ring, I would never have let you take the transfer to New York. I would never want anything bad to happen to you, but you have to know there's only so much I can do to protect you."

"What does she have on you?"

"You wouldn't understand."

"Try me," said Amanda, looking up to meet his eyes. "You said you'd try to protect me, but you can't because you're taking orders from the Madame."

He dropped the washcloth in the bucket and took a couple of steps back. "I'm not just taking orders, Rollins. I need to do what I have to in order to protect myself —"

"What do you have to do?" she asked alarmed.

Charlie didn't say a word. He returned to stand in front of her and met her eyes, but he remained silent. He picked up the washcloth and began his work at her arms. Amanda tried to twist away and resist but she was stuck in her position.

"What are you going to do to me?"

The stillness stretched on as Charlie continued down to her chest. She felt her skin pricking with heat due to her mortification. The cloth brushed between her breasts and rubbed below. She studied the stern expression on his face. He seemed too lost in his thoughts to gain any sort of sick pleasure in the act. Despite the guilt the man might have been feeling, she still felt no empathy for him. He was the reason why she ended up in this predicament in the first place. If he hadn't sold Kim to the Madame, she wouldn't be tied up and helpless in some abandoned warehouse in New Jersey.

"What are you going to do to me?" she asked again.

Charlie didn't answer, but the sheriff lighting up a cigarette in the far end of the room answered for him.

"Kill you."

* * *

The trickle of water on concrete was incessant. The glow of the overhead lights made her skin appear translucent, blue and purple veins surfacing on her torso. Charlie had cleaned her as well as a whore's bath could. He removed most of the dried blood on her legs, but she noticed her had only taken it as far up as her upper thighs. Ben laughed and offered to do the job and then some, but Charlie was firm. He didn't allow Ben to touch her.

All Amanda remembered before she lost consciousness was Ben and Charlie's hushed discussion. She recalled it in disjointed words, so for all she knew, they were plotting her murder. It didn't escape her that Nick's name was mentioned a few times. Something about shooting someone dead. At the rooftop, before Carter took his foot and smashed her phone to pieces, she remembered seeing that Nick had answered the call. It gave her a fleeting sense of hope that he knew she was in peril, and that he would act on it immediately. But every minute that passed without Nick busting through those doors, hope dwindled. The less she believed that Nick was coming for her, and the more she believed that Nick was that someone shot dead.

She couldn't even think of Nick being shot. Not in her state.

The men had left her alone in the cavernous space. The bucket of grey water was emptied and Ben's cigarette stubs littered the floor. She was still naked and in terrible pain, but she somehow felt a little less disgusting thanks to Charlie's brief moment of humanity. Seeing that side of him and hearing his helpless desire to protect her allowed her to better understand his actions. By no means would she ever forgive him for what he did, but she finally grasped why he would never come around to confessing his guilt. The man was delusional enough to believe that he and Amanda shared an affinity for each other since that night at the motel. He thought it was rough sex between a boss and his ambitious employee. Amanda knew, without a shadow of doubt, it was rape.

Her lids felt heavy. She was drifting back to sleep when she heard the gears turn. The garage door opened and a bright white light filtered into the space. She lifted her head, prepared to see Ben and Charlie; instead, she saw a woman. Her gaze first fell at her feet. Black leather pumps that came to a sharp point at the toe. She wore sheer hose underneath a black pencil skirt that matched a fitted blazer. The silk shirt she wore was in a shade of deep reddish-brown, the colour of dried blood. It matched her lipstick, Amanda realized, as she noted the pleasant and familiar smile.

The woman stepped into the light and revealed herself. It was Sally Livingston.

"Amanda, how lovely to see you again." The click of Sally's heels echoed in the room. She walked toward Amanda, circling around her and surveying the newly-formed cuts and bruises. "It's unfortunate that we have to meet under these circumstances. You tied up, naked, and covered in your own filth. I was told that if it hadn't been for Charlie's weak heart, you would have been in a poorer state. It's difficult to imagine what that might have looked like…." She took a few seconds to consider the blood between her legs, but she didn't mention it. "You understand that it didn't have to be this way. I did like you and and Nicolas when I thought he was your husband. Young, newly married couple that made everyone around them wonder in anticipation what their children would look like."

"Why?" Amanda's question came out in a hoarse breath. She was trying to process what was happening. She and Nick always had an unexplainable wariness for that group of Southampton housewives, but she would've suspected Violet and Paula before meek and dowdy Sally. It didn't make much sense to her. She thought back to the first sex party at the lake house, when she had that traumatizing run-in with Sally's husband, Doug. Did he know his wife was the Madame? Or have they been working together all this time? Her head was pounding. Nothing was making sense.

"Why?" Sally repeated. "Why did I initially like you? Why do I have you tied up and beaten down in this empty warehouse? Why do I run the most exclusive sex society in the country?" She ran off the questions in a disinterested tone and a wave of the finger. "I see no reason why I have to explain myself to you when you're just going to die anyway."

"Then why haven't you killed me already?" Amanda spat.

Sally raised her chin, her eyes level with Amanda's. It was the first time Amanda noticed the green flecks in the older woman's hazel eyes. She noted the thin bridge of her nose and the way her nostrils flared. The slight curl of her lip revealed a dimple in her left cheek. Having stood in the company of wealthy socialites and former models, Sally looked like the no-nonsense chaperone who would bail them out of jail before the press caught wind of the scandal. But up close and beneath the signs of age, she was beautiful in a girl-next-door kind of way. She had the face of someone nurturing, trustworthy, and naive. Amanda knew this, because people always assumed she was all those things by the blonde hair, blue eyes, and southern accent.

"Trust me, I would want nothing more than to see you dead." Sally got close to her face, warm breath ghosting over cool skin. She took a step back and crossed her arms. "Unfortunately, I have a few clients that want to keep you alive until those files you stole from me are destroyed. You see, they're not exactly thrilled with the possibility of having their dirty secrets exposed. So you need to stay here and be my pretty, little hostage so your fake husband can do what I say."

"Nick wouldn't destroy evidence —"

Sally scoffed and shook her head. "You think that man is incorruptible? He may not compromise his integrity for money, but he certainly will throw it all away for you. Are you flattered, Amanda? Are you swept off your feet by the notion that a man loves you so much he would sacrifice truth and justice to save your worthless life?"

The thought of Nick facing that decision with her life on the line made Amanda's stomach turn. If she could just talk to him, she would've told him to release the names. Let those sons of bitches face the consequences of their crimes. Let Sally and her cronies be prosecuted so they could spend their last years rotting in prison. But the sinking feeling in her gut told her that Sally may have been right about Nick; he would do something that would jeopardize his career to save her. If she would do it for him, she knew he would do it for her in a heartbeat.

"The files are encrypted so I would know the moment he downloads or shares it with the rest of his team. It would be unwise of him to do such a thing; unless it turned out that he didn't really care about you after all." She fingered a tendril of Amanda's hair, twirling it around before releasing. "He has an hour to delete every last trace of it. Not that it would matter for you, because you're dead either way. " Sally reminded. Her expression turned stone-cold and she strode back toward the garage door. She pressed the red button and took a step beyond the threshold. The gears clicked then came to a startling halt, darkness engulfing Amanda.


	30. Wolf

_**AN** : An update! Woo! I know it's taking a while between these updates, but rest assured, I am determined as heck to make sure I finish this story. I've just been busy with my last year of nursing school (and so I really should be studying for the NCLEX instead of writing, but here we are). I'm like (at least) three chapters from the end though, so brace yourselves! Please read, enjoy, and review! _

* * *

**Hush**

 **30\. Wolf**

* * *

Nick was pacing.

The interrogation room muffled the noise and commotion on the other side of the concrete walls. Phone lines off their hooks. Keyboards clicked feverishly. Uniformed officers moved in a hurry across the squad room, creating a hazy blur of navy blue.

Less than ten minutes ago, he set foot in the 13th precinct for the first time since June. It didn't take him a moment to settle back into the familiar territory of his workplace. He slipped into the position of authority as if no one's rank preceded his, which couldn't have been further from reality. He barked orders. It didn't matter if he was a second-grade detective in plainclothes. It didn't matter that his captain was stepping out of his office. Nick's speech was accelerated and frantic, but his message was crystal clear. Find her.

All his efforts to appear as if he had everything in control lasted no longer than the punctuation mark at the end of his plea. The coil in his gut tightened as he listened to the way his voice broke at the mention of her name.

"Find… Amanda."

Not Rollins.

He didn't ask them to go in search of a missing police officer. In no certain terms, he pleaded that they find the woman he loved.

Nick snapped as soon as he felt a hand on his shoulder. He spun on his heel, shoving the hand away. Instantly, he felt regret as his cold, hard eyes met the worried expression of his mentor.

"Amaro, take five." Munch's instruction was firm, but Nick recognized that it came from a place of genuine concern.

He was ushered into the empty interrogation room. Munch stood at the doorway. Behind him, the flurry of commotion slowed down to a bottleneck, as if gawking at the aftermath of a head-on collision. He caught Liv's sympathetic look and the small nod she sent his way. Fin's voice broke through the whispers. "You heard the man. Get your asses movin' and find Detective Rollins."

Munch closed the door behind him and stepped toward the younger detective. "I know how badly you want to be out there working to find her, but you'll be of no use to us until you get your mind clear."

Nick closed his eyes and took a deep breath. His head was still spinning and his stomach was in knots, but he figured he'd give Munch the impression he was trying. "I'm fine."

"You just shot a man, and your girl is being held hostage. I'd argue that you're not fine and I think that sentiment is absolutely warranted in your case. But there's no reason why you should be getting on the bad side of those unis."

"They're not moving fast enough."

"Yelling at them isn't going to light a fire under their asses."

"I don't give a f—"

Munch's hand pressed down on his chest. "They're acting as quick as they can given the little information we have."

He sighed. Restlessly, he paced from one end of the confined space to the next. He didn't miss the fact that Munch had just called Amanda his girl, but he didn't feel the need to correct him. The bittersweet truth of it all was that he liked it. He shook out the gateway fantasy to refocus on the task at hand. "Any word on her coordinates?" Nick inquired about the tracking device he installed on the Range Rover.

"They found the car in a parking lot in Jersey City. We got police surrounding the area but still no sign of Rollins." Munch dropped his hand at his side and watched as Nick took a step back. He felt for something in his pocket and pulled out a thumb drive that was slipped into his hand back at the scene where they had been reunited with the undercover detective. "You sure there's no information from this thing that'll help us in our search?"

Nick looked at the piece of plastic on Munch's palm. It was the files he had stolen from the iPad. It contained the names and social security numbers of the trafficked girls as well as Wolfsbane's clientele. He would have surrendered the files to the department along with the rest of the evidence he and Amanda had gathered, but then he got that threat from the Madame.

"The files can't be accessed without a change in the source code. The second they know we've opened it, they're going to kill her. I can't take that risk."

Munch pocketed the thumb drive. "No one will know about it until we have her back. You've got my word." He was about to take a step out of the room when, instead, he took a step toward Nick. "I know you're angry and frustrated because you feel so helpless right now, but trust that every single person out there is going above and beyond the call to make sure we get Rollins back."

"I know," Nick sighed. "I lost my head. I'm sorry."

"You acted like a dick, but I'm not holding it against you. Everyone here may not completely understand what you're going through, but everyone knows it's their worst fear when the person that needs saving is someone they love."

"Munch, I don't —"

He raised a hand to stop him. "Kid, I'm not internal affairs. There's no point denying what's really driving you to rescue this woman." Munch paused to scratch his chin. "Use it. Use that drive. But I can't have you doing something stupid and reckless to save her. You both need to come out of this alive, ok? I need you both to sit your asses down, buy me a drink, and bore me to tears with all the sordid details of your romance. Deal?"

"Deal."

"Clear your head of whatever's keeping you from trusting the rest of us to do our jobs." Said Munch. "I'm not telling you to stop thinking about her. Don't run away from it. It's what's compelling you to save her."

* * *

Heavy lids drifted shut. One moment, she saw the ground stained deep ruby with her own blood, the next, she saw green grass and miles of blue sky as far as her eyes could see. Her head drooped as her body swayed from side to side. She muttered something incoherent — the way her father used to mumble his words as if he had cotton balls stuffed in his mouth.

It wasn't all the time. Most times, her daddy had that thick as molasses Southern accent that made the ladies giggle and blush. But there'd be those nights he'd come home from the races and he'd be smelling of alcohol, cheap perfume, and a hint of horse manure. He'd be slouched by the kitchen table, his stubby fingers wrapped around a Budweiser. Under his breath, he'd be muttering incoherently, convincing himself that he'd stop coming home with empty pockets. That next time, he'd have lady luck on his side.

Amanda would appear at the doorway of the kitchen. She'd be rubbing her sleepy, little eyes. "Daddy, where were you?"

"Come sit on daddy's lap, baby."

She'd climb onto his blue jeans and get a whiff of the barns and the bourbon. He'd kiss the top of her head and smile down at her like she was more precious than all the money he had lost. His foot would tap rhythmically on the weathered linoleum, his knees rising and falling like a galloping horse.

Amanda felt the smile pull at the corners of her mouth and she threw her head back. She thought she could feel the wind on her face, but the air was still. Hot and sticky. Her bloodshot eyes opened slowly to see the stone walls and shadows. Instead of holding onto her imaginary horse's restraints, her own wrists were restrained by a rope so tight it cut through her skin.

Tears trickled down her cheeks. She closed her eyes and prayed to God for a better dream.

* * *

The squad worked around two large tables. Folders and laptops were laid out in what could only be described as organized chaos. Olivia sat at the head of the table as she spoke on the phone with an eyewitness who claimed to have seen Amanda exit the Range Rover. "What time did you say you saw her?" She scribbled the time on her notebook, connecting the new piece of information into a workable timeline. "What direction? Toward the water?"

Real-time updates from the uniformed officers on the ground flashed on the projector screen. It was a map of New York City and the surrounding areas of New Jersey. While they knew where the car was left behind, there were still too many prospective locations where they could have taken Amanda. Nick recalled the Manhattan loft where they had the first sex party, then his mind was inundated with images of the lake house in Long Island. He remembered how helpless he had felt in that basement room.

"Hey." Fin's voice snapped him out of the dark memory. He held up an envelope he had retrieved from an evidence box taken from the Huxley's cabin. "This an invitation from one of those parties?"

"Yeah." Nick replied. "You got something?"

"Logo looks familiar."

Munch took the envelope from Fin's hands and studied the handprinted script and the red wax seal. He turned to his partner. "Come across it during one of your wild weekends?"

"No, actually, it looks like something I saw working UC back in the 90s. I was working as a driver and we used to do drops at this manufacturer's warehouse in Jersey. Don't even think they operate anymore. But I remember this wolf painted on the side of the building."

"Wolfsbane Sex Society." Nick said quietly. He knew the rest of the squad had a good idea what he and Amanda had been up to while they were undercover. But he still hadn't been completely upfront with the details, including just how involved they were with the secret club.

"I think I know where she is," exclaimed Olivia. She pressed on the keys of her laptop, before turning the screen around to show the team. "Wolf's Textiles LLC. Established in 1933, shipped its labour and manufacturing down to Mexico in 1998, then closed shop less than a year later after the Federal Police discovered it was a drug cartel."

"Doesn't surprise me," said Fin. "Jersey's Narcotics unit was sniffing out that place for years before they boarded up and closed shop."

"Who owned it?" Nick asked.

Olivia scrolled down the page to see a very short list of shareholders. At the top, was a man who owned ninety-percent of the company. "Richard Wolf III."

"Who?"

"Hmmm… Get this." Olivia began. "He died in 1998 just before the company moved operations down to Mexico. No kids, but he was married to a former Miss Georgia 1974. She divorced him ten years later, citing in court documents that he was a serial cheater and alcoholic."

Richard Wolf III was the average overweight, leather-skinned, white male who was lucky enough to inherit the family fortune. He was unattractive, and judging from the divorce transcripts, his personality left little to be desired. Nonetheless, his deep pockets served to attract a string of beautiful women who were rumoured to be his lovers.

Olivia scrolled down the page, skimming over scanned documents of various court proceedings — from his first divorce to civil suits against his company. Few and far between, there were pictures of news clippings that had something to do with the business tycoon. Nick listened as Olivia read quickly through the highlighted areas and skipped what seemed to be irrelevant information. Suddenly, a familiar face appeared on the screen for a brief second. "Hey, go back to that news clipping and zoom in on that picture."

"Richard Wolf III, 65, joined by his wife Elizabeth Palmer-Wolf, 33, at the New York Symphony charity auction benefitting the child victims of international sex trafficking."

Nick blew the air out of his lungs. "The irony."

Everyone turned to him with puzzled expressions on their faces.

He pointed to the woman standing next to their dead white guy. "That's Sally."

"Who?"

"I don't know who Elizabeth is, but I swear to god the woman in that picture is Sally Livingston."

Munch furrowed his brows and exchanged a look with Fin. "We're going to need some context here, Nick."

"She's a woman Amanda and I met at the Hamptons. The last person out of those four that I'd ever suspect, but…"

"Those four?" Olivia asked.

The pieces of the puzzle started to fit and form a clear picture. Although he failed to understand why she was responsible for the depravity he witnessed in the last two months, he was convinced they had found their target. He would worry about her motives at a later time. Now that he had her, he was a hell of a lot closer to finding Amanda and exacting his revenge.

"She's the Madame."

Everyone but Fin stared at him in disbelief. Judging by the picture on the screen, no one would ever suspect 33 year-old fresh-faced Elizabeth Palmer-Wolf to turn into Sally Livingston, ringleader of the East Coast's most lucrative sex trafficking ring.

"I got the address." Fin called out.

Nick could have bear hugged his co-worker, but instead he pounded his fists on the table and started to move toward the exit. "Great work, team."

* * *

The Madame circled her like a vulture preying on a carrion carcass. The way her eyes inspected the cuts and bruises on Amanda's body was nothing short of disturbing. But Amanda tried not to let it get to her. She might have been in the worst state with a dwindling chance of survival, but she was still a detective at heart. She still needed answers.

"You never answered my question." She started again, frustrated that the woman refused to indulge her curiosity. "Why do you this? Why do you sell these underage girls to the highest bidders?"

"Does it surprise you to learn that meek, old Sally is the Madame of the most exclusive sex society on the East Coast?"

"Yes." Amanda answered honestly. She had suspected at least two of the four in their group of aristocratic housewives, and none of them had been Sally. "But that's not why I'm surprised. I'm surprised that you would hate women enough to treat them worse than objects, and for what? For money? No… That can't be it. I mean, you either come from money or you've never had trouble landing a rich husband. So what's the reason?"

"Doug was born with a silver spoon," she spoke of her husband. "But you're absolutely right. I've never had trouble marrying into wealth, but I'd say that's never really been what attracted me most to my husbands."

"Husbands?"

"I've had two." She smiled and pressed two fingers over Amanda's lips. "It wasn't the money so much as their ambition and lust for power. Those are the qualities I found most attractive."

"I don't know about your first husband, but your second sure has more than just a lust for power." Amanda remembered the distressing run-in with Doug at the lake house. Surely, the Madame, of all people, would have known of the sick and twisted proclivities of the man to whom she was married. "Does he know about you?"

She shook her head. "He's a smart man when it comes to numbers, but he's a victim of his impulses just like the rest of them."

"The rest of them? Men, you mean?"

Sally twirled a lock of blonde hair around her finger.

"Are you aware of the depth of depravity of the male fantasy?" The question was whispered into her ear, the fine hairs on her neck standing in fright. "I was younger than you are now when I married my first husband. I was crying backstage after losing a pageant when an older gentleman offered his handkerchief. No one had treated me so kindly without wanting anything in return, or so I thought. I was a silly, naive girl. I chased after this man and convinced him to leave his wife for me. I made him fall in love with me."

"Then someone newer and younger convinced him to leave you." Amanda already knew where the story was headed. She could take a guess that Sally's aversion for the male sex was rooted in a history of lies and infidelity. Regardless of how awful the men in her life had been, it still failed to justify the trafficking empire she had built. "Am I right?"

"Tale as old as time." She sighed, walking away from Amanda. Her voice grew distant with every click of her heel. "She was white trash from the deep woods of Virginia. Fake breasts for her sweet sixteen, silver-crowned molars, and bleach blonde hair. And he was head over heels in love with that pregnant whore."

"Your husband was a pig, so —"

"Richard, Doug…. They're all the same," said Sally. "They think they can fuck these pretty little things without their wives knowing. They think they can stuff their limp cocks in some pussy that's never even seen a tampon, and not experience any repercussions?"

"If you think it's so fucked up, why do you enable them?"

"I've been hurt by men. All my life. You think it started with my first husband? My own father was a deadbeat, and my mother's boyfriends had a habit of sneaking into my room whenever she passed out. My therapist used to tell me that my past mirrored my poor choices when it came to relationships. I paid her thousands of dollars to tell me that I needed more antidepressants and therapy, only to realize that the cure was control. The drug was power."

"Your life sucked, but it's no excuse."

"I don't expect you to be sympathetic."

"Damn right."

"I've worked long and hard to be the one calling the shots. It took over a decade to build this business and to earn the respect and adoration of the same men who hurt women like us. Now I have them begging on their knees… begging for a taste of these young sluts who would have amounted to nothing anyway."

"You're sick."

"I'm the sick one?" Sally bellowed. She marched back to face Amanda, picking her up by the chin so they stood eye-to-eye. "All men want is sex. Their tiny little brains immediately shut down at the first whiff of that fresh pussy. Reduced to their base instincts, they are animals. Predators. Including your beloved Nick."

"He is nothing like the men who pay you."

"Au contraire. He has paid me."

"Only to take you down," Amanda spat.

"Wrong." She sneered. "If you had only witnessed how much he revelled in the feel of your younger, feistier sister."

"Shut up!"

"God, he loved it when she rode his cock to their release. The pain and the pleasure etched in that handsome face of his. I swear, it was one of the most erotic images I had seen all summer." Sally's eyes closed as her hands roamed Amanda's naked torso, closing over her tender breasts to squeeze. Amanda tried to pull herself away, swinging her arms against the restraints. But she was trapped. She had nowhere to go.

"You're wrong about him."

"Am I?" Sally questioned. "He fucked you and now he's through with you."

"Liar."

"He hasn't come through those doors to save you. You want to know why?" Sally asked, before swinging the palm of her hand across Amanda's cheek. "It's because you're already dead to him."

* * *

The abandoned warehouse looked out on the Hudson River, where the waters roused in a state of agitation. The sky turned to grey as the clouds rolled in overhead. By the time they pulled in front of the old manufacturing centre for Wolf's Textiles, the rain sprayed like gunfire.

No sirens was the order. They didn't want to spook the Madame and her cronies and risk further harm to Amanda.

They had Special Ops on their side, armed with tactical weapons and years of intensive training dealing with hostage situations. Logic told Nick that he had the best of the best handling the situation on the frontline, but the thought didn't rest easy with him. He needed to be out there, not secured in the back of a police van. If they were going to negotiate for Amanda's life, only he could do it.

He remembered what Munch said about not doing something stupid and reckless to save Amanda's life. Sacrificing his own life was the heroic thing to do, but it wasn't the code of a police officer. Sure, everyone knew the job involved risking their lives. But they were always taught to protect themselves first in order to ensure they were able to protect and serve others. But in that moment, Nick wasn't thinking like a cop. He wasn't thinking of his training or his years of experience. All he could think about was that hold in his heart and how it was driving him to get Amanda back safe and sound. His own life be damned.

The van's door opened with a bang and he jumped. The water splashed around his feet and he bound for the breached entrance, where Special Ops had disappeared into just seconds earlier. He heard the faint yells of his team. "No! Nick!" cried Olivia. "God damn it, Amaro!" barked Fin.

The rain stopped pelting at him as soon as he crossed threshold into the warehouse. He followed the sound of movement but, suddenly, it got quiet. But not for long.

The first gunshot jolted him to a complete stop. Then gunfire sprayed like the storm, and the only thing Nick could do was run.


	31. Saviour

_**AN** : Thank you for the views and reviews for the last chapter! Here's the continuation from where we left off last time. I felt pretty bad about leaving it in cliffhangers these recent chapters, so here's one that's a little different. I'm sorry that it's shorter than my usual, but I'm not well-versed in writing action sequences. I thought I could stretch this out, but I'm out of material... Plus, I felt like this part of the story deserved it's own chapter so I didn't want to add another scene at the end. So without further ado and without giving away too much, here's Chapter 31._

* * *

Hush

31\. Saviour

* * *

The sound of rain hummed through the walls of the abandoned factory. Water sluiced through the rusted pipes and poured into the open drains where the rats had made their home. His footsteps were light enough that if he listened closely, he could hear a pin drop.

Nick followed his instincts as he walked farther into the building. Crouched and against the wall, he made sure no one had the opportunity to shoot him with his back turned. The weight of his gun was an anchor — a harsh reminder of the dangers of running blindly into a hostage situation.

Munch had warned him about acting dangerously and recklessly in an effort to save Amanda. He had planned on heeding the advice of his mentor, but the adrenaline got the best of him and he bolted. He had no idea if the rest of the squad was coming after him, or if they had already told Special Ops that he was in the vicinity. He figured they probably already knew; they wouldn't want the headache of accidentally firing at a fellow officer just because they mistakenly assumed he was one of the hostage-takers.

Nick's finger trembled at the trigger as he slipped through the crack of a metal door. The floor beneath him creaked as he realized he was standing over a stack of wooden pallets. If he had rushed in, he would've crashed at least twenty feet.

He swallowed hard as he crossed back into the open and empty part of the warehouse. Looking around the large expanse, he noted the faint streams of light through foggy plexiglass windows. Immediately, he knew those yellow beams belonged to Special Ops. Quick on his feet, he followed their path.

Before he could cross the threshold, the forward motion ceased and the men took aim. Shots rung out. Semi-automatics coming from both sides. Men yelled instructions to rush in and open fire. Bullets sprayed straight into the hallway, breaking glass and catching one agent's leg. He hollered in pain but ordered his men to go ahead without him.

Nick hunkered down for cover.

It took a lot less time than he anticipated for the gunfire to stop. Peering over the edge, he saw the Special Ops scouring the area. He could spot at least two unmoving bodies from where he was hiding. An agent rushed to another. The younger man was out of breath as he spoke. His captain listened, then he spoke to a receiver strapped to his chest before he made a motion with his hand to get moving. "She's not here."

"Damn it."

Nick was about to get up to make his presence known to Special Ops when he heard the commotion upstairs. Footsteps struck the metal grates running along the length of the warehouse. He looked up to see two shadows projected onto the wall — a man and a woman, hands clasped together as they made a run for it.

He bound for the stairs, winding up thirty feet from the ground. The metal grates under his feet didn't seem sturdy at all, but he moved too fast to care. He chased after them but they were too far ahead, disappearing up a chute that encased a ladder.

As he ran, he pulled his phone and pressed hard on the speed dial.

"Nick, thank god." She was relieved he was alive. They must've heard the deafening noise of semi-automatics going off just moments earlier. "Where are you?"

"Rooftop!"

"What?"

"She's headed for the rooftop!"

He accelerated the second he lost sight of them. But he halted to a stop when he caught sight of a single body hanging down from a hook attached to a beam. The rusted chain wrapped around the steel beam, ending in a hook. Around the hook, was a rope that hung a few feet until it coiled tightly around the wrists of a naked Amanda.

Blood rushed through his veins in an anger so potent he thought he would ignite.

Nick charged down the stairs toward Amanda. She was alone. Bile rose to this throat as he imagined they had left her for dead.

The closer he got to her, the grimmer it seemed. She was covered in grime, but he noted the purple bruises littering her body. A mix of deep and bright red streaming down her legs. Her head hung low as if all life had been sucked out of her and all that was left was this carcass.

When he was finally within arms reach, he spotted movement in the shadows. He heard the cock of a gun and the pull of a trigger. He shifted sideways and almost felt the graze of a bullet by his arm. The threads on his sleeves torn away. The bullet ricocheted off the wall and fell in a hard thump on the concrete. His trigger finger was poised and he pulled just as the face of his shooter emerged from the shadows.

Sheriff Ben Finch released his weapon as he fell to the ground. The bullet clean through his right lung. Nick rushed him, taking his weapon into his hands before kicking him hard in the gut. Finch winced, his eyes closing as life drained out of him.

He barrelled over to Amanda, feeling her cold skin for the first time since she kissed him out on the street that morning. It was only hours ago that she confessed that she loved him, and he knew he would be filled with regret if he was stripped of the chance of telling her how he truly felt. Removing his own police jacket, he wrapped it around her like a cape. He made quick work of the ties that bound her, and she fell all dead weight in his arms. Her legs folded beneath her but her arms dropped slowly, a grimace forming on her tired face as the pain from having her limbs stretched out hit her at full force.

She was alive. She was conscious.

Nick wrapped the jacket tighter around her body as he cradled her on the floor. His hands couldn't warm her fast enough as he rubbed her arms, then stroked her neck and her face. Her eyes were still closed, but he so desperately searched for any signs of recognition. Her fingertips brushed his torso, her nostrils flaring as she tucked her head underneath his chin. She moaned in pain and he kissed her temple. "It's ok, baby. I'm here now."

Amanda opened her eyes, blue and blood-shot staring right back at his. He felt her arms wrap around him in a tight embrace, then he felt the tug on his holster. Before he could react, his eardrum popped at the sound of a gun going off right by his ear. Behind him, Finch's body slumped to the ground. A pistol aimed to shoot, slipping from his grip. She dropped the weapon to the ground as her face flooded with simultaneous feelings of the fear and the realization that it was all over.

She tucked her head under his chin and burrowed into him.

He saved her.

He wrapped her tight in his arms and pressed a long kiss to the top of her head. They stayed that way until light streamed into the room and the paramedics had to pull them apart.

She saved him.


	32. Pea

_**AN:**_ _Sorry for the long wait. Life happens. It hasn't been the greatest start of 2018, but I am hopeful. Just as I'm hopeful I'll get this story finished within the year. I have a feeling it'll be long between updates, but we will get there some way, somehow._

 _Okay. This is a long chapter, partly planned and partly to make up for last chapter's brevity. There's also a bit of medical jargon in here and I can't be positive this is how things would be handled IRL but I tried my best to keep it 100, while still keeping it all dramatic. If there's a medical term you don't understand, don't stop reading to google it. Just keep reading, because I'll probably explain it further into the story and once you get there, I promise it'll be worth it._

 _Thank you to those who reviewed the previous chapter. I know I suck at updating, but I hope the thoughts, concerns, and feedback are still coming. They feed my soul._

 _P.S. Shout-out to some Grey's Anatomy docs._

* * *

 **HUSH**

 **32\. Pea**

* * *

"Call a bus!"

Men in black boots rushed in, their weapons drawn and aimed to fire. Nick held his badge up, the light glinting off the gold patina. An agent far ahead stopped in his tracks and held an arm out for his men to stand ground. He scanned the room and spoke into the radio on his chest, "Found Rollins. Two suspects headed to the rooftop."

"Someone help! I can't feel her pulse!"

* * *

"You can't wait here." She was a whole foot shorter than him; but she wasn't intimidated in the slightest. The frustration in her voice was palpable, even with all the screams, cries, and moans coming from inside the trauma centre. Using her clipboard, she directed his attention to the waiting area far away from the busy staff of nurses and doctors — basically anyone who could give him information. "You're standing in the middle of our triage area. You're compromising everyone's safety."

"Who's safety?" Nick snapped, looking left and right to find the area clear. "Look, I'll move if I have to. But until then, I need someone to tell me where they took Amanda Rollins."

"Are you her husband?"

"Yes," he answered instinctively. "No. I mean, I'm her partner. I'm with the NYPD." He pulled out his badge, but the unit clerk simply pressed her lips together. She began to walk back toward the other side of the nurses' station.

"I'll see what I can find."

Nick wanted to be in the ambulance with her. He was never supposed to leave her side. ESU practically had to yank him off when they found them in the scene. He yelled at them to keep his jacket on her; there was no way he was letting all those agents see her in the state she was in.

He was sitting on the back of an ambulance, an EMT attending to the shallow laceration on his arm, when he saw another set of EMTs wheel a stretcher out of the factory. The paramedic had to restrain him when he tried to go after them.

"They're taking her to Presbyterian. Your partner will be in good hands."

Nick couldn't trust her word. He had to see it for himself. He had to be there when she opened her eyes, and she had to be there to hear everything he needed to tell her before she ran off to chase Chief Patton. But the ambulance drove away, red and blue swirling under the haze of thick, stormy clouds.

Once his arm was bandaged up and the EMT deemed he was stable, he demanded to be taken to Amanda. The squad was ready to take him. He didn't care if he was being obvious. He didn't give a damn if they all knew how he felt about her. He heard the whispers. "They were fucking?"

Nick didn't give a damn.

ESU wanted him to stay on the scene and provide his statement. Only he and Amanda were there to witness Finch's shooting. It was his Glock 19 that shot and killed Finch — two bullets into his chest. Internal Affairs was on their way to investigate if the circumstances warranted the kill of a man who took hostage of a detective. But it was clear they wouldn't let him go. IAB had it out for the two of them from the get-go; they thought Nick desperately wanted to see Amanda so the two could get their stories straight.

"It was a good shoot. The bastard had a gun and would've killed us if I hadn't shot back."

Amanda may have pulled the fatal trigger, but he wasn't going to drag her under IAB's microscope. All she had to do was make it out of this horror alive.

Before Tucker and his team could make it through the tunnel into Jersey City, he snuck into a car with Olivia. She was in a better state of mind to drive him to the hospital.

Nick's heart raced at the memory of her on the factory floor. Her body was so pale — such a sharp juxtaposition to the blood trailing between her legs and pooling at her feet. Her breaths had slowed and he worried she'd soon lose her drive to breathe. When he touched her, she was so cold. He kept talking to her, hoping and praying she wouldn't lose consciousness. "Stay with me. Amanda, please stay with me."

Upon arriving at New York - Presbyterian, Nick rushed to the nurses' station at the entrance of the Emergency Room. At first, everyone was too busy. Most ignored him, while others like the unit clerk told him to sit and wait across the hall. Any other day, he wouldn't have blamed them as they were attending to patients who required immediate medical care. However, his tunnel vision prevented him from noticing anything that didn't have to do with Amanda. He couldn't hear the cries of a man going through a sickle cell crisis. A pregnant woman moaned in pain, telling nurses she knew there was something terribly wrong with her baby. "He's not moving! He's not moving!"

He failed to see the doors slide open. A gurney rolled in and nearly knocked him off balance, but he managed to leap backward until he felt himself hit the wall. On the gurney, a paramedic kneeled over the patient; he was doing chest compressions. A nurse behind the desk stood and yelled at her colleague. "Get the crash cart and page Dr. Pierce."

Nick swallowed the lump in his throat. He closed his eyes for a second, taking a breath to calm himself. No matter what he did, he couldn't seem to think of anything but the worst-case scenario.

He opened his eyes when he felt the presence of someone standing in front of him.

"Officer?" It was a woman dressed in ill-fitting scrubs made of the same fabric as his abuela's couch. "My unit clerk tells me you're with the NYPD."

"Detective Amaro," he said as he pulled out his badge. "I'm looking for my partner, Amanda Rollins. EMTs brought her here about half an hour ago."

The nurse looks down at the tablet in her hand and swiped through a spreadsheet until she found the name. "Yes, she was admitted at 0911 this morning. Bed —" Then she stopped, her brows furrowing.

"Where is she? Is she in one of those beds?" Nick craned his neck and peered over the smaller woman. He looked down the stretch of beds, some of which were concealed by curtains. "I need to see her."

"I understand your concern, detective. Let me just a take a look at this one more time. I think there may be an issue with these bed assignments." She frowned at the screen as she hit the refresh button a couple of times. "Ah, well, it looks like she's not on my list because she's being transported to pre-op as we speak."

"Pre-op? You mean surgery?"

She nodded. "Yes, I'm afraid that's all the information I have at the moment. Once she's out of surgery, I'll let you know, detective."

"Wait," he called as the nurse retreated back behind the desk. "How long will that be?"

But the unit clerk from earlier alerted her to a phone call. She picked up the phone. Nick paced in that same triage area he was told not to stand on, his hand squeezing the back of his neck. He was about to try getting their attention again when he caught sight of Olivia approaching him. "Still no word on where she is?"

Nick threw his hands up in frustration. "She's going to surgery."

Olivia's breath hitched.

"I don't know. That's all they're telling me —"

"Tell them to prep OR five." It was the nurse that had spoken to him. She still had her ear on the phone, but she was directing another one of her colleagues. "Page Dr. Robbins for an emergency D&C on a 30 year-old female. Confirmed hypovolemic shock, so make sure the blood bank's been notified."

Nick took the coffee cup Olivia had offered him, and took one sip. His head tilted to one side as if he was pondering the taste of the burnt swill.

Olivia wondered what made Nick stop in mid-sentence and why he had that pensive look on his face. She realized it had to do with what the nurse had just said. She only caught about half of it, but she got the gist. She was no medical expert, but she had been a sex crimes detective for so long that she'd been in hospitals before, hearing the same medical terms. But it could've been any other patient, she thought. She abandoned the idea when she saw the switch in Nick's features. He was calm and thoughtful when he took his sip of coffee, then he took a sharp breath and he was struck with panic.

"Amanda."

Dots connected.

"D&C?" Nick asked, his fingers wrapping around Olivia's arm to brace himself for something he already knew. She shook her head in response, not wanting to believe something so tragic could happen on top of everything else. "She was pregnant?"

* * *

Captain Cragen emerged from his office to see his squad wiped in half.

That morning, Sheriff Ben Finch was found dead eight feet from Amaro and Rollins. Amaro's standard-issued Glock 19 fired twice — one landing in Finch's right lung and the other bursting through his abdominal aorta. An investigation was underway to determine if it was a good shoot. Aside from Internal Affairs' involvement, there was a disagreement on which police department would handle the crime scene. The factory was located in New Jersey, and New Jersey police wanted to keep it within their jurisdiction. But 1-PP and Suffolk County police were also in contention due to the breadth of Livingston's crimes. The District Attorney of the Southern District wanted Sally Livingston's trial in New York. While Cragen questioned the DA's persistence as something politically motivated, he decided to keep it to himself if it meant Livingston would remain behind bars until her death.

Within the hour, NYPD was fielding calls from several different counties stretching down to Fulton County, where they wanted Patton's head on a stake. They could already foresee these trials being a mess. With all the moving pieces of the trafficking operation and all of the prominent names involved, they were in for a long series of trials. But the worst of it was over. They located the girls, and in the process, they updated dozens of missing reports dating back to the early 2000s. Rollins and Amaro did what they came to do. They took the trafficking ring down.

"They're transporting Patton to Atlanta," Cragen announced as Fin and Munch looked up from their computers. "The state's attorney in Atlanta thinks there's a higher chance of him serving a longer sentence down there. Not only was he procuring minors for Livingston, he was running a smaller operation."

"I hope the son of a bitch gets gen pop," Fin muttered.

Although Cragen agreed with Fin, he knew better than to show his endorsement. It was bad enough what Patton was doing for Livingston, but he failed as a commanding officer when he betrayed Detective Rollins' trust.

"What about Miss Madame?" Munch asked.

"Jersey is holding her now for hostage of a police officer. She's already lawyered up, but it looks like she'll be transferred soon. Either here or Suffolk County," Cragen explained. "Regardless of where the trial ends up taking place, I have a feeling it's going to be a long one. Until then, we keep working on those files on that thumb drive Amaro gave you." He directed a look at Munch. "We're not waiting for this story to hit the press. We need to get to those johns before they have a chance to flee from justice. There's no guarantee that they can be extradited for their crimes, so let's not take any chances."

"Got it, Cap." Fin replied. "But what about Rollins. Any news?"

Cragen frowned, shaking his head. "Benson said she'd call if she had any updates on the situation. Right now, I can only hope that no news is good news."

* * *

 _Dilation and curettage, or D &C, is a surgical procedure to open the cervix and surgically remove the contents of the uterus in cases of abortion and miscarriage._

"Nick," Olivia warned, her hand pulling the phone from his grip. "You've read the same definition from ten other articles."

They sat on a stretcher parked in a deserted hallway. She practically dragged her dazed partner all the way down here just to get him to sit down and not spook the passersby. Once his shock had worn off a little, he pulled out his phone and went on a furious Google spree. He read everything he could find on the procedure — indications, complications, recovery.

"You didn't know she was pregnant?" It started off a statement, then the last word had an inflection that denoted it was a question.

Nick rubbed his eyes. "We were careful."

She looked at him straight and raised a brow.

"I could've been more careful," he corrected. "She told me she was on the pill and I saw her taking them every morning before she had her coffee."

"Every morning?"

"It wasn't like I was on the look-out."

"Do you think she knew she was pregnant?"

"No," he answered as if the question was preposterous. "She would've told me if she knew." But the second it came out of his mouth, doubt seemed to mask his face. "She kept things from me, but I don't think she would've kept this…"

Olivia thought about her next question. She hated giving her partner the third-degree, but figured it would help him sort through the mess in his head. He needed to stop reading internet articles and picturing every worst-case scenario. She knew the implication of her question could potentially anger him; then again, she didn't really know the nature of his and Amanda's relationship. She suspected he was sleeping with the blonde. But with all the secrets of the case coming to light — affairs and sex parties — could she really trust that they kept things exclusive? She had a good feeling about Amanda and hoped that she wasn't just using Nick, but at the end of the day, Olivia's priority was her partner.

"Do you think it's possible you're not the father?"

It got the reaction she expected. Nick jerked up from his slumped position against the wall. He angled his body away from her, almost as if she disgusted him. His mouth was open, his tongue pushing against the back of his teeth like he was restraining himself from fighting back with words just as vile. "She was only with me."

"I'm sorry. I had to ask."

Nick jumped off the stretcher and began to walk away.

"Where are you going?"

"I need —" He held his arms up. "I just need to get away." He pushed the double doors open and the bright lights flooded into the hallway.

Olivia followed after him, but he ignored her even when she fell into step with him. "Nick, look, I'm really sorry about what I said. I didn't know how serious it was between you and Amanda."

He stopped in his tracks. "We didn't plan for any of this to happen. But it happened. I fell for her, Liv." He exhaled hard, like he was releasing a tight knot of pain from deep in his belly. His arms wrapped around his body and he stared down at the ground. "We didn't plan for this baby to happen, but it did and now it's gone."

"I can't imagine what it feels like, but you know I'm here if you need me."

He nodded.

She wrapped her arms around her partner and felt him relax a little. "You'll come back from this. You both will."

* * *

The sound of the air conditioner thrummed overhead. Outside, the nurses quietly discussed last night's episode of one of those Housewives shows. It sounded implausible, but it was nothing like the last two and a half months of his life. He lived in a guest house overlooking the ocean. They wined and dined with the upper echelons of high society. He was a sports agent married to a charming, intelligent, beautiful woman. Together, they worked to take down one of the biggest sex trafficking rings in the country.

Olivia had gone back to the precinct to help with the overwhelming caseload. He promised he'd be fine. He appreciated her company, but he also needed some time alone to process everything that was going on.

News of the morning's events began to spread within the department. 1-PP was trying to contain the story. It would only be a matter of time before it leaked to the media, and once it did and the Madame was exposed, the johns would know that their names would also be publicized.

Nick spoke briefly with Captain Cragen. The older man didn't want to alarm him, but he informed him nonetheless. ESU was less than thrilled about Nick disobeying protocol and following in after them. It didn't matter that he was the one to find Amanda, and that he found her just in time. He knew they could've found her without his intervention, but it was a risk he wasn't willing to take then; and he would've done the same if he had to do it again.

What if Finch had reacted quicker when faced with a team of agents bursting through the door? What if Amanda had been caught in the crossfire?

"IAB is working closely with ESU, interviewing their agents about what happened," explained Cragen on the phone. "I wanted to give you a head's up. Tucker wants your statement by the end of the day. Possibly Amanda's, if she's awake."

 _If she's awake._

The morphine dripped slowly down the tubing, the clear fluid disappearing into a vein in her arm. Amanda was in bed in the post-anesthesia care unit. Her hair fanned out over the crisp white pillowcase, her body stationary under the three layers of blankets. Some colour had returned to her face — no longer carrying that bluish-grey cast. He rested his cheek on the bed rail as he studied her face, his fingers stroking the warm skin of her hand.

Amanda's nurse reported the surgery went well. They treated her shock symptoms before it could progress to stage four, which, from what he gathered, could have resulted into a coma or death. She didn't tell him about the D&C, and figured that had something to do with confidentiality. He thought she was going to say something about it, but she stopped herself and told him the surgeon would be back to assess her once she was awake.

So he waited.

And he waited.

His stomach grumbled and he realized he hadn't eaten anything all day. The thought of bland hospital food and a stale candy bar from a vending machine sounded pretty appetizing at his state, but he couldn't bear to leave her side. They'd have to stick a tube down his stomach before he left her.

Her hand twitched.

Nick sat up. He watched with bated breath. Amanda's eyes were still closed and she didn't make a sound, but he felt that minuscule movement under his touch. Then, the tips of her fingers pressed into the palm of his hand. He felt his own pulse quicken. She began to stir, rasping and groaning softly.

"Amanda," he said, squeezing her hand a little tighter. She squeezed back.

Slowly, she opened her eyes, blinking repeatedly to adjust to the lights. Nick's smile rivalled the brightness of the LED bulbs. His body leaned against the edge of the chair, his free hand rising to cup her cheek. Amanda's lips curled into a small smile as she recognized him.

He blinked back his tears and pressed a long kiss to her forehead. "Thank God."

"Heeey, you." She was a little groggy from all the meds.

Nick pulled back a little but still hovered over her, one hand intertwined with hers and the other, stroking the delicate curve of her cheek.

"Did we get 'em?"

He chuckled. Of course, the case would be the first thing on Amanda's mind. He nodded affirmatively. "We got 'em."

"Kim?" She coughed, wincing in pain as she retrieved her hand from his grasp to splint her abdomen. His pained expression matched hers, and she sensed it. "No, no. I'm fine," she assured him. "Just a little sore."

"You sure? I should call the nurse. She said she'd be back to check when you've woken up."

"Little more time," Amanda said, resting her hand against his cheek. "With you."

Nick smiled. "We found your sister and all the other girls. They're safe."

Relief swept over her and she closed her eyes, taking a moment to soak it all in. She craned her neck to plant a chaste kiss on his lips. As she broke away, she whispered, "Thank you."

"Couldn't have done it without you," he replied. "You had my back."

"And you had more than just my back." Amanda winked.

They both laughed, leaning into each other for another kiss. His mouth slotted over hers. Her tongued slid over his. What started as something sweet and light-hearted grew in passion and hunger. They were desperate to feel each other, desperate to make the most out of the moment when it was so close to being taken. But Nick stopped returning the kiss. Feeling her tears on his cheeks, he pulled back to see Amanda crying.

"I'm sorry," she cried. "I'm so, so sorry."

Amanda's gaze shifted from his eyes to her belly. Her mouth twisted into a frown. She sealed her eyes tight and buried her head in her hands. Nick held her tight, praying he found the answer to make her stop crying. "Oh god. I'm sorry, too."

She pulled back to look at him. Her eyes were bleary but full of questions. "But — how did you?"

"I heard the nurse make the announcement to prep the OR for a D&C. I wasn't sure you were the patient, but I had a feeling —"

"It was me." She blinked back. "I lost the baby. It's my fault."

When she tried to turn away and pull her hand from his grasp, he only held tighter. He enveloped both hands in his, and followed her gaze so she had no choice but to look at him. "Babe, I'm right here. You didn't lose the baby, okay? I'm not letting you blame yourself for what happened. It was an accident."

"This wouldn't have happened —"

"No." He was stern. "Please don't do this to yourself."

"I should've known to be more careful."

"Wait." He swallowed hard. "You knew?" He didn't want to make her feel any worse than she already did, but he couldn't help but feel a swell of outrage at the possibility that she kept the pregnancy from him. Maybe Olivia had a point. Perhaps she knew all along and chose not to tell him. After all, it did take Amanda a long time to trust him.

"I was late," she confessed. "I thought I could be pregnant, but I didn't want to believe it. The timing, with the case and everything, was not ideal. And you —" she paused, chewing on her lip. "You have been so good to me, but I just met you and, all of a sudden, I'm going to have your kid! I was in denial. I couldn't bring myself to take the test, so I told myself I'd just do it once the investigation was over."

"It doesn't matter that we met at the start of summer. I would've always been there for you and —"

"I know, Nick," she said. "You would've always done the right thing." Amanda wiped at the tears that stained her cheeks. She still hated crying in front of anyone, even if it was Nick, who had been nothing but compassionate and comforting in those past instances she revealed her vulnerability. She took a deep, shaky breath. "Seven weeks."

"What?"

"The doctor said the baby was seven weeks old. Would've been the size of a pea."

Nick gripped the bed rail. There wasn't much time to wrap his head around the loss. He had barely even begun to comprehend it. But the thought that she was carrying their child for the last seven weeks felt like another gut punch that landed. No. It felt as though a wave had crashed over him, pulling him back beneath the surf, just as he was about to surface for air.

"I was in and out of consciousness when I got here. They did some tests, stuck a bunch of needles in me, hooked me up to an EKG because my heart was slowing down. I kept my eyes closed for most of it, but then I heard someone run toward us. She was gasping like she had just run a marathon. Then she asked everyone if they knew I was pregnant. I think I was just as surprised as they were because I opened my eyes and I saw the looks on their faces." Amanda tentatively placed her hand over her flat stomach. "It wasn't long after that when they got my consent to do the procedure."

"How do you feel now?"

Amanda shrugged. "I don't know, to be honest. A fucking mess," she answered with a wry chuckle. "On one hand, I didn't even know I was pregnant. I wasn't exactly planning on becoming a mother anytime soon. So you'd think I'd be relieved that I get to continue without dependents, that I don't have to deal with the responsibility of raising a child. But… I just feel awful. Like I'm missing out on seeing how pregnancy will change my body. Like, I'm sad that I won't swell up like a balloon, puking my guts out. My heart feels sick that I'll never know what this baby would've grown into. I'm scared I'll always be wondering if they would've had your eyes… your smile…"

Nick stood abruptly. He paced to the other end of the room, his hand over his mouth. He hated this. He was feeling her pain, too; but he knew it was only a fraction of what she was going through. He wanted to tell her it'd be okay, but he wasn't even sure he could believe it for his sake.

"I miss someone who I didn't even know existed until they were gone. Isn't that crazy?"

"It's not crazy." He spun around and made his way back at her bedside. "I keep wondering, too. Even when I tell myself I shouldn't fall down the rabbit hole because I'm making it worse, I can't help it."

"I lost something that belonged to us." She bit her lip, fresh tears springing in her eyes. "I'm so sorry."

"You are not at fault." He bent down and cradled her face in his hands. "I don't want to tell you how to feel after going through this kind of loss, but I just need you to stop telling me you're sorry. Please."

Amanda wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him to her side. Nick submitted without protest, climbing up on the narrow hospital bed and curling himself against her body. She rested her head on his chest and listened to the strong beat of his heart.


	33. Daughter

_**AN** : Hey! One month between updates isn't that bad, right? Thanks for sticking around. Thank you to my lovely reviewers for taking the time out to tell me what they think of this story. MushuFireLorde mentioned tears and I am both sorry and overjoyed that I made at least one person cry! Here's chapter 33, which I banged out today. IDK, the writing bug bit me hard today. I hope y'all like it :) Read, enjoy, and review!_

* * *

 **HUSH**

 **33.** Daughter

* * *

The white room had no windows but the studio-grade lights made visible every imperfection. The seam between the panels on the wall, distinguishing paper-white from off-white. The concave edge on the corner of a sharp, metal table. Nick wondered about the unfortunate body that slammed on that hard edge; he wondered how long ago it had happened, what curse word was yelled out, and what shape the bruise had formed.

The heat from the lamps had opened up every pore. His sweat pebbled the tip of his nose and beaded at his temples.

"Detective Amaro."

He sat up straighter and looked directly at Captain Ed Tucker of the Internal Affairs Bureau. The man sat on the other side of the table — the side with the perfect, hard angles.

"Are you still with me?" asked Tucker.

Nick nodded. He was still in the same white room in a building on the corner of Hudson and Vandam when he wished, more than anything, that he could be at Amanda's bedside.

"Do you maintain that you shot Benjamin Finch twice with your weapon?"

"Yes," Nick answered with irritation. "My story hasn't changed since the last time you asked me that question."

"I'm just being thorough." Tucker opened the folder that had arrived a few minutes earlier. He slid the report across the table with the knowledge that the seasoned detective would be able to interpret the results from a quick glance. "Ballistics confirmed it was your Glock 19 that killed Finch, but they also found Detective Rollins' prints on your weapon. Do you care to explain?"

"Rollins and I have been living together for close to three months. She had access to the safe where we kept our guns."

Tucker clasped his hands together over the table. He leaned forward and eyed Nick carefully. "Can you tell me more about your living arrangements with Detective Rollins?"

"I already told you," Nick said, his foot tapping on the yellowed linoleum. "We were UC. We were tasked to pretend to be a married couple. It's all in the preliminary report —"

"Yes, I know about the investigation and your undercover identities. What I'm interested in is your relationship with Detective Rollins."

"What are you really asking?"

"The nature of your relationship with Amanda Rollins crossed professional boundaries. The preliminary report states that you joined a sex club in order to further your investigation. The bureau has yet to determine whether or not this course of action was necessary —"

"It was necessary." Nick planted his hands on the table, his shoulders hunched forward. "If we hadn't done it, we would've never identified Sally as the one running the trafficking ring. We would never have gotten their list of clients. The department would have nothing."

"It's too soon to tell —"

"Save it, Tucker." He rolled his eyes as he pushed himself against the table. "Are we done? Because I don't see the point in these questions."

"I'm just doing my job here, detective." Tucker placed the ballistics report back in the folder and pushed it aside. "Is it true that you engaged in a sexual relationship with Detective Rollins for the sake of maintaining your cover?"

Nick looked past the man in front of him. His relationship with Rollins had to happen because of an undercover operation, but neither of them pushed it that far in order to maintain their cover. They made that choice independent of their assignment.

"We did what we had to."

"Did you coerce Detective Rollins into having sex with you in order to maintain —"

Nick held his palms up and shook his head. "There was no coercion. It was consensual. I didn't force Amanda to do anything she didn't want to do."

"As a detective who works with sex crimes victims, you know better than anyone that people can still feel coerced even when they say yes."

"Are you saying I threatened her so she'd sleep with me?"

"I didn't say that."

"Sure sounded like it."

"Did you tell her that having sex with you would be the only way to carry out the investigation?"

"No!" Nick cried. "We made that choice together."

"Do you have feelings for Detective Rollins?"

Nick shook his head and scoffed. "How is that relevant?"

"I want to understand so that when I get Rollins' statement, I can be assured that no one was forced against her will or no one was cornered into doing something that could have been avoided. It's already raising a huge red flag that you two acted out of impropriety; I can't have a possible felony charge muddying up the work you two did."

"Amanda isn't technically in my unit."

Tucker's head perked up.

"She's on loan from Atlanta PD. The rules against inter-unit fraternization don't apply. Sure, sleeping with your temporary partner is ill-advised; but it's not against the rules."

"You've done your research?" Tucker smirked.

"Are we done here?"

"For now." Tucker stood up and tucked his chair under the table. "Tell Ms. Rollins when you stop by to see her: I'm looking forward to meeting her."

* * *

The anguish and adrenaline of the last several hours had clung to his skin. Nick drove home for a quick shower and a clean change of clothes. He didn't realize until he was under the hot spray that he hadn't been home in over two months. The soap scum on the shower door had dried up and left unsightly trails of a chalky substance. With a towel around his waist, he carried the basket of laundry down the hall. Sitting on top of months-old laundry was his shirt and jacket stained with Amanda's blood. He tried not to think about the blood she lost. He tried not to think of the blood she had shared for the last seven weeks.

Nick started the machine.

He had tried to clean up and empty his fridge before leaving, but he had forgotten to dispose a carton of milk. He gagged as the cheesy, solid substance poured out of the spout. He chucked it into the garbage, which he had, thankfully, emptied before leaving. He emptied the dishwasher, storing plates and glasses back into the cupboards. Subconsciously, he figured that once Amanda would be discharged from the hospital, she'd be coming back here. Perhaps he'd gotten so used to their oceanside cabin as home.

His phone rang from where he left it by the front door. As he neared the phone, he saw Maria and Zara's faces lighting up his screen.

"Hey, M."

"Nick?" Her voice was gentler than it had been for a long time. It sounded like she was relieved to hear from him. "I got word that you got out of UC and there was a shooting —"

"— I'm fine."

"Thank god. Are you home? Zara and I are on our way —"

"Wait. You're in the city?"

"When I got the call about the shooting, no one would tell me what happened. I panicked. I pulled Zara a week early from camp, but she's fine — she's really missed you." Maria rambled. "We got the first flight out. Just landed in La Guardia and we'll catch a cab as soon as they let us out of this plane. You're at home, right? Or should I meet you at the precinct?"

"I'm home."

Nick pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. He listened to the sound of his clothes tumbling in the wash.

"Everything okay?" Maria asked.

"Yeah," he replied. "Thanks for bringing Zara here."

There was a long pause before his ex-wife spoke. "Of course. We're glad to hear you're okay."

* * *

Amanda read the blue and grey speech bubbles again and again. She asked Nick how it went with Internal Affairs and his answer had been vague and clipped. She had no delusions that things would go well for her and Nick just because they caught the bad guys. She had prepared herself for the hard questions about her relationship with Nick and her knowledge of her sister's involvement. But Nick had spent the whole day scared to death. And just when his mind was at ease that she would live through that horror, he learned about a baby that had already been lost. The last thing on his mind, the last thing he had the patience for were Tucker's questions.

Nick said he would drive home for a quick shower then he'd be back in her room at New York - Presbyterian. She wanted to tell him that he didn't have to stay by her side. She knew SVU was busy wrapping up the reports on the investigation and she knew that it would only be a matter of time before the appointed ADA would meet with them. She wanted to play the role of the understanding and permissive partner, but she couldn't lie to him or to herself. Amanda wanted him by her side.

A flood of disappointment and guilt washed over her body as she read Nick's last text: _"Sorry I can't make it there this afternoon. Maria came with Zara. I hope you understand. I haven't seen my daughter since June. I'll try to make it back there after dinner."_

Amanda tried not to think about Nick's daughter.

Tapping her fingers on the keyboard, she typed a response only to delete it.

She pressed her lips together and furrowed her brows — a concerted effort to keep herself from crying. She tried not to think about the fact that she and Nick almost had a child together. And, now, she would be alone.

She replied to his text: _"OK."_

* * *

Zara was strawberry cotton candy and sunshine peeking through the clouds. Wrapping his arms around her, he squeezed a little tighter as he breathed in the scent of her hair. He didn't realize how much he missed his little girl until he stood on the stoop as their cab pulled up to the curb. Tears welled in his eyes as she ran up the driveway, her little arms wrapping around his neck just in time for him to scoop her up in a long embrace. They were inside the house now, but she still clung to him.

How much she adored her father rivalled how much he adored her.

Nick gave Maria a side-hug and she kissed him on the cheek. "You look like you haven't slept in days."

"Thanks," Nick replied with a faint chuckle. "It's been a rough day."

"How's your partner? The one from… Austin?"

"Atlanta," he corrected. Nick was careful with the details while Zara was still in his arms. "She's in the hospital, but the doctors say she could be discharged as early as tomorrow."

"That's good news, right?"

Nick shrugged as he carried his daughter with him to the couch. Shifting his attention to the little girl, he asked her questions about princess camp and she was happy to oblige. He was pleased to learn that princess camp was not all tea parties and sparkly dresses. The girls were taught to ride and care for horses, and they also had martial arts classes every other day. "That was the best part of camp!" Zara said with an excitement that was infectious. "Mommy said she'll sign me up for Taekwondo when we go back to LA."

"That's great!" He turned to Maria who was sitting on a chair on the opposite side of the room. She had been quiet the whole time, observing the father and daughter reunion. "Thanks for doing that, M."

"It's no problem." She smiled as Zara playfully tugged on his arm. "She really is your daughter."

* * *

"It's been a year since she took an afternoon nap." Maria stood in the doorway of her daughter's bedroom. She smiled as she shook her head in amazement. "You wore her out."

"She's probably just tired from the flight."

"No, I think only you can match her restless energy."

Nick chuckled as he stepped out of her bedroom, pulling the door closed to keep the light from entering. When they were younger and at the early stages of dating, Maria had pointed out that he was always moving. He couldn't sit still and not do anything with his hands. If there was a pen, he had to twirl it between his fingers. If there was a straw, he had to stir his drink. If there was no object he could manipulate, his feet would anxiously tap on the ground. In the beginning, Maria found it amusing and teased him, "I should keep a Rubik's Cube in my purse every time we go out." But as the years passed, what was once an amusing, adorable quirk turned into a nuisance. Nick's fidgeting in a restaurant started a hushed argument that turned into a yelling match when they got home that turned into confessions of expired love. Months later, the divorce papers were signed.

Maria watched her ex-husband pull the clothes out of the washing machine. It had finished its cycle a while ago, but the clothes were still damp.

"Vanessa knows I'm in town," she said, breaking the silence. Vanessa was an old friend and co-worker who lived in a one-bedroom on the Upper West Side. She was friends with Nick until the divorce; she chose Maria. "Her husband is out of town so she said I can stay at her place. I know this is sudden, but I figured you'd want Zara to stay with you while we're in the city."

Nick ceased all movements, pondering what she had said.

"Something wrong?"

"Can you stay tonight?"

Maria blinked back her surprise. She didn't know what to say and she was too alarmed to explore the implications of his question. "I'm sorry?"

"Can you stay and watch Zara? I have to go to the hospital… my partner."

She pressed her lips together in a tight line. Maria didn't know what she was feeling. She knew she didn't fly across the country with the blind hope that she would reconcile with her ex-husband. Zara was her priority. And she thought Nick would want nothing more than to see their daughter after months of being undercover. Perhaps she thought wrong.

"Your partner?"

He lowered his head. "Amanda Rollins. She brought the case to the department and she got stuck with me…" A smile tugged at the edge of his mouth. "She didn't like me at first —"

"Stop." She swallowed hard. "I don't want to hear about how you hated each other then fell for each other. I… I don't want you to think I still have feelings for you, Nick. But I can't… I can't be the sympathetic ex-wife."

"I get it."

"Look, either Zara comes with me or you stay here with her."

Nick opened his mouth to protest, but nothing came out. She could tell he was torn but she wanted to remind him that his priority was their daughter. If she took time off work to bring Zara to her father, then he owed her the courtesy of staying. He was clearly infatuated with Amanda and he was worried sick about her, but he even said so himself that she would likely be discharged tomorrow. Nothing would go wrong overnight, she thought; but she was too superstitious to speak it out into the universe.

"Zara will be up from her nap in an hour. She'll want to have dinner with her dad."

"Yeah," said Nick as he threw the last of the heap into the dryer. "You're right. I'll stay."

* * *

Amanda's phone vibrated on the table above the hospital bed. The screen faced down but she didn't need to see the name on the screen to know it was Nick calling. Captain Ed Tucker motioned to the phone and nodded his head as if giving her permission to answer the call. He came by before dinner service. Her tray was situated on the table and she had a cup of green jello, slimy chicken noodle soup, and two packs of saltines. She didn't have an appetite but she stared at the food on the tray, hoping Tucker would get the hint and leave her alone.

"I can call them back later," she said. "After I've had my dinner."

"I'll let you get to your meal. I just have one more question."

"Couldn't this have waited until I was out of the hospital?"

Tucker smiled wanly. "I wanted to see how you were doing."

"Bullshit."

The IAB captain smoothed his palms over his dark grey slacks. He cleared his throat. "We asked Detective Amaro the same questions about your relationship. We just want to confirm that there was no sexual assault, no coercion that took place… that, um, you won't be pressing any —"

"Charges?"

Tucker nodded once and looked her in the eye.

"So you're saying Internal Affairs is asking all these invasive questions about my sex life because you want to make sure that your NYPD detective wasn't acting out of bounds?"

"Detective Rollins." He put a hand up to stop her. "While I would prefer that scenario simply because it would mean less paperwork for my office, my primary concern is you."

She rolled her eyes. "No, I won't be pressing any charges. Nick and I are both consenting adults and we both made the decision to have sex. Did that relationship start out as a cover for the investigation? Yeah. Sure. But I was never coerced into doing something with him that I didn't want to do… What we had —" Amanda paused and looked down at her hands. "Our relationship — it was real."

* * *

" _I tried to call, but I'm sorry I have to stay with Zara tonight. I'll be there in the morning to explain. Please don't be upset with me."_

Amanda only read the text once, replied with another "OK" before she shut off her phone. She didn't want him to call her and she didn't want the temptation of returning the call. After Tucker left, she peeled open the jello on her dinner tray. She poked the green substance with a plastic spoon, watching the maceration of the smooth surface. Certainly, she didn't have the stomach for food after that brief episode of destruction.

Nick asked her not to be upset with him. He had even used the word 'please'. Yet, there was no denying that she was upset, jealous, angry and disappointed. Worst of all was the fact that she felt like such a pathetic loser for feeling so miserable about a man who didn't return her feelings. Her brain couldn't catch up with her heart when she blurted out "I love you" that morning on the street corner.

He didn't say it to her then, and she understood because she, too, was shocked that it had even come out of her mouth.

He didn't say it when he found her at the warehouse. She felt his hot tears on her skin, heard his desperate cries for the paramedics to stop the bleeding.

He didn't say it when she woke up and they mourned the loss of the life they created together.

He didn't say it when he hurt her by not showing up. Instead, he asked her not to be upset with him. _Please_.

* * *

Crap.

Amanda felt like utter crap.

The morphine wasn't strong enough. The phone was still turned off but her fingers itched to dial his number, to yell at him and to hear the sound of his voice when he would tell her: "Hold on. I'm on my way." Her nurse, as sweet as she was, wasn't enough to distract her from the loss of her baby. Prior to this, she didn't believe that life began in conception. She was taught the Bible way, but a rebellious adolescence and the realities of life taught her otherwise. Now, she wasn't so sure what to believe. How could something break her heart so ferociously if what was taken from her was just an amalgamation of cells in her uterus?

She didn't even know if she would have kept it.

The fact that the choice was taken away from her made her feel simultaneously incensed and alleviated. It made her feel like crap to find solace in not being the one responsible for the little pea's death.

"Is she awake?" A stranger's voice interrupted her self-loathing. At the doorway, a familiar man stood, talking to her nurse.

"I believe she is; let me check —" She moves to the doorway and kind, brown eyes catch her bloodshot blues. "Yes, she's awake. And you said you're her sister?" The nurse wasn't speaking to the familiar stranger; she was speaking to someone who was hidden by the man's larger body.

"Yes. I'm Kim Rollins."

Her sister appeared in the doorway. Her face beamed a wide smile that reached the crinkled corners of her eyes. She rushed into the room and embraced her big sister, careful about not squeezing too tight or pulling away too suddenly when her hair was caught in the IV lines.

"Oh my god, Mandy!" Her sister pressed her palms on her cheeks; both girls' eyes were welling with tears. "I'm so happy you're here. No one would tell me anything… I had to bribe this one," she said as she pointed to the man who had only taken one step into the room.

"Detective Tutuola," he said with a nod.

Suddenly, she remembered meeting him that fateful day in June — the same day she discovered she would be paired up with Nick instead of Declan Murphy. For the most part, Nick had been the one to keep correspondence with his unit. But, throughout, he kept her informed of all the developments related to the case, including how Detectives Benson and Tutuola had been instrumental in figuring out her location. "Thank you," Amanda said.

The detective nodded and turned to Kim. "Found a vending machine down the hall. I'll be back to take you to the hotel in fifteen."

"Twenty?"

"Don't push it, kid."

When Detective Tutuola left, Amanda raised an eyebrow at her sister.

"The cops wouldn't let me see you. Not right away," Kim said with a shrug. "But I couldn't wait until you got outta here. I was having a full-blown panic attack when they told me you were in surgery. I said I won't speak a word to the DA until they told me what was going on with you. And I guess Fin felt sorry for me so he agreed to drop by on the way to the hotel."

"You're staying in a hotel?"

"Best Western in Queens?" she replied, her brows furrowed like she wasn't sure. "Cops are letting us, girls, stay in separate hotel rooms for our protection. At least until the arraignment."

"That's good," Amanda agreed. "It's safer for all of you while they're sorting out all the warrants to arrest the johns."

"Fin says the department will probably spring for a nicer hotel for you. Somewhere Midtown." Kim's eyes glowed with excitement as she sat cross-legged on her sister's bed. "Maybe once the hospital releases you, I can stay with you in your fancy hotel room."

"I doubt it'll be any better than Best Western."

"But it'll be with you." Kim lifted Amanda's hands to her lips. "It'll be like when we were kids."

Amanda gently pulled her hands back and looked away. She was happy to see her sister finally free from the sex trafficking ring. But there were still too many sins she couldn't forgive.

Kim, sensing her sister's unease, looked down at her lap. "Mandy, I'm sorry. I was stupid for thinking Chief Patton wanted to help me out by giving me a job. He told me it was in New York, that I'd get to boss around all these younger girls. I had no idea what I signed up for and by the time I knew, I couldn't get out. I swear, Mandy. You gotta believe me."

"I believe you."

"— But?" Kim eyed her curiously when Amanda's expression hadn't softened. "You're mad at me for sleeping with your partner?"

Amanda grunted, rubbing her eyes.

"I don't get it. I thought you two were doing a job, thought you were just faking it… I mean, I don't know how you'd fake anything with your fake husband. He's hot! And his di—"

"Stop!"

Kim gulped. "You actually liked him?"

"I'm begging you to stop talking about it."

"Why?" Kim asked. Every time her little sister was told not to say or do something, she probed and poked and left a mess that others would have to clean up. Amanda knew better, and yet she always fell prey to it. "Oh my god. You love him."

Amanda gritted her teeth. "Leave it alone."

"It all makes sense now! You were so mad at us for sleeping together because you were in love with him."

"You didn't 'sleep together'. You raped him."

Kim reared her head back in indignation, her hand planted over her heart.

"You deceived him and you tied him up and forced him against his will."

"— If that's the story he wants to tell."

"— I believe Nick."

"You believe some guy you've known for two seconds before you believe your baby sister?"

"With all the lies you've told and all of the mess you've left for me to clean up, it really wasn't that hard."

The two sisters stared each other down, not far from the staring contests of their youth. This time there were no smiles trying to slide their way up the corners of their lips, and no hands pressed on their bellies to stifle the giggles. They stared at each other, waiting for an apology that would never come. Kim waited for her sister to rescind the accusation. She would never see it that way. To Kim, she was doing what she was asked to do by her employer. To Kim, Nick was a man; and men didn't get raped. Amanda released a breath and broke the eye contact. She knew Kim would never understand even if she tried to explain it. She was as stubborn and close-minded as their mother, as calamitous as their father.

"I'm glad you're safe and I hope that you'll stay out of trouble after everything you've been through." Amanda paused and looked her sister in the eye. "But I'm done trying to save you."

Trying to save Kim had gotten her raped by Chief Patton years ago. The man she loved was assaulted by her own sister. That morning, they tried to kill her and they had succeeded in a way that would follow her for the rest of her life.

"You went through all that trouble just to push me away?"

"Yes."

"You're unbelievable!" Kim exclaimed. "We're sisters! You can't do this to us!"

"I want you to figure your shit out, Kim. I really do. But I can't be here for you anymore."

"So, what? You're not gonna see me or talk to me?"

"If I can help it."

"Selfish bitch!"

"— Everything okay here?" Detective Tutuola stood in the doorway, a Snickers bar in one hand.

"Yeah, my sister was just leaving."

Kim got off the bed, her head shaking. "You'll be sorry you cut me out of your life, Mandy."

"You didn't just threaten a police officer," Detective Tutuola warned.

Kim pulled her shoulders back and glared at her sister once more before turning for the exit. Before she had stepped beyond the threshold, Amanda pushed herself up by her forearms. The IV pump beeped. A sharp pain shot through her abdomen, but she quieted down the most basic desire to scream in agony. "One day, Kimmy, you'll realize this was best for both of us."


End file.
